Found
by CupcakeCute
Summary: Begins between TGIQ and Power Play, continues post-NFA. Buffy learns of Spike's resurrection from an unlikely source and immediately sets out to make things right as The Apocalypse breaks out in L.A. Spike/Buffy pairing, some Angel/Cordelia. Rating may go up in later chapters.
1. Chapter 1

**Disclaimer: **The Buffyverse is the property of Joss Whedon and Mutant Enemy, I'm just having fun.

**Author's Note: **This story begins between TGIQ and Power Play and continues post-NFA. It's a Buffy-centric ensemble fic. Spike/Buffy pairing, mentions of Angel/Cordelia. Please R&R.

Angel stared out the necro-tempered glass of his office window, blood in hand, unburned by the midday glow of the sun. The memories of Rome were still fresh in his mind, seeing Buffy dancing the night away in that club, surrounded, he was sure, by the Immortal's lackeys. Of course, she _was _being watched by some of his as well, people from Wolfram and Hart spying on her for her own safety, making sure that she was okay. _And single, _he mused. The thought came to him, unbidden, as uncomfortable memories rose. Truth be told, he had not given Buffy much thought in the last few years leading up to Sunnydale's end, he had been too wrapped in his own life and worries. _Cordy, _he thought, earning another painful swoop of emotion in his chest. God, just thinking about it was too much, the cuts too deep. With all that was happening, he could only mourn in private, all alone in the huge, quiet loft he had received as a part of his deal with the devil. No one seemed to notice that he avoided the subject of Cordelia religiously, even with their memories restored, as well as anything that had happened that last terrible year.

His visit to Buffy on the eve of Sunnydale's destruction had been his escape. The moment he laid eyes on her reminded Angel of the first time he had ever seen the Slayer. She had been barely more than a child then, young and fearful, unprepared for the calling. More than simple empathy, he had wanted to be someone for that girl, someone who could help her. His simple wish to be her champion had grown into infatuation, and by the time they were in Sunnydale, he was obsessed. Looking back, another knot formed in his stomach. He had been able to go back to the place that he had loved her, he had been able to pretend for a while that she was still the seventeen year old girl who had looked at him like he was every star in the sky. Then the kiss had ended, and her eyes had opened, and Angel had known. Buffy hadn't been that girl for a long time, she would never be that girl again and Angel certainly wasn't the same man. Had he ever really been her champion?

"Ah, Buffy…" he spoke to himself grimly.

Angel sighed and took a long drink from his mug, watching the sunlight gleam and glint on the buildings of Los Angeles, a sight that would never cease to amaze him, no matter how many afternoons he watched it, after two hundred years in the dark.

His thoughts returned inward. Those moments with Buffy in the graveyard had been confusing and were still so. Angel would have to be daft to deny that he was still attracted to her and still cared for her deeply, but she was not his. He was not hers.

Guilt had plagued him on his trip back to L.A. His thoughts had centered on Cordelia, weak and broken, lying in a coma, while he was off kissing a woman that he could no longer say he truly knew. By returning to Sunnydale, having that conversation with Buffy, and having a small part of him hope that his sins could be absolved by going back to being Buffy's high school boyfriend—as if she alone could make him purer and cleaner—he had felt even worse. Looking back, it hurt too much to bear.

"Knock knock, boss."

The chipper voice of Harmony rang out from the doorway behind him.

"What is it, Harmony?" he asked, not turning to see.

"There's a call for you on line three," she said, a nervous timber in her usually chirpy tone.

"Oh yeah? Who from?" Angel asked, sipping from his mug. The last thing he wanted to do was work. He wanted to stare out his window and do the one thing he was best at. _Look deep into my soul and brood, _he thought, the sarcasm of his own mind almost made him feel a bit better.

"Angel," Harmony said, taking a tentative step into his office. "It's Buffy."

"Well, speak of the devil," he whispered.

* * *

"Hello?"

Angel almost winced at the sound of his own voice, hopeful yet distanced. He leaned forward over his desk, rubbing his forehead in frustration and cursing himself for the awkward opening.

"Angel?" Buffy replied.

She sounded different than he had thought she would, older than he expected, just like the last time he had seen her. It was almost jarring.

"Yeah, it's me," he said. "It's nice to hear from you."

"Yeah, it's nice…" she said.

"Is something wrong?" he asked, his brow knotting in concern.

"No, not really," Buffy said.

Angel could almost picture her, staring at nothing in particular, trying to find something to do with her hands to alleviate the awkward tension. It almost made him smile.

"I just wanted…" she trailed off and huffed. "Honestly, I'm not really sure what I want."

"I see," he answered. There was a moment of silence, Angel wished he knew what to say. What did they used to talk about? _Not much, _he realized, _mostly kissed, talked about slaying, talked about us._

"I'm going to be near L.A. next week," she said.

"Really?" he asked.

"Yep," she replied. "I'm taking a well deserved vacation from my vacation. We have reports of a girl about thirty miles outside of L.A. Witnesses saw her dust a couple of vamps and we think she might be a slayer. I was hoping we could meet up."

"Of course we can," he said, it was as if his mouth was on autopilot.

"Good, great," she replied. Buffy's voice was clipped, a little rough, and almost devoid of emotion, not matching the words that fell from her lips. Angel frowned as she went on. "Remember that little café, the one we got coffee at when I…came back?"

"I remember," he answered. The meeting had not been the most pleasant experience. Just looking back on the awkward, stilted conversation had him shifting uncomfortably in his seat.

"Can you meet me there on Saturday? After sunset?"

"Of course," Angel said gently. The monotonous, almost harsh, tone of her voice was starting to make him worry. His voice dropped a bit lower, softer. "How are you holding up, Buff? Really, after Sunnydale…I know its been a while but, are you doing okay?"

When she spoke, it was too quick, too hard, and much too final. "I'm fine."

He knew that tone, she wanted him to back off. "Okay, then I guess I'll see you Saturday."

"Guess so," she said.

He wasn't sure how to say goodbye. What was she expecting him to say? He could not bring himself to say those three little words. He mustered up his courage for some sort of affectionate parting, just as Angel drew breath, Buffy spoke.

"Bye, Angel."

And he found himself holding an empty line.

Angel hung the phone on the receiver and sank back in his chair with an unneeded exhale of breath, rubbing his temples. Then the reality of the situation set in. Buffy, his light at the end of the tunnel, the woman he was supposed to be fighting for—whom he had fought for in Rome not two nights ago—had called him, and he had no idea why.

"Idiot," he spoke out loud to himself.

He had a girlfriend, what was he going to tell Nina about this little coffee date with his ex? A more pressing issue dawned on him. What would they talk about? Oh, it was all well and good to try and get to Buffy in Rome. It was a romantic city, it bred delusions. More importantly, Buffy was not the sole purpose for his Roman holiday, and if he had been by himself he was certain he would not have carried on after her the way he did. The real challenge hadn't been getting to Buffy, sweeping her off her feet, it had been keeping her away from—

"Spike," Angel groaned, resting his head on his desk and pounding it a couple of good, strong thumps. "What the hell am I going to tell Spike?"

Rome had been just like Sunnydale. It had been a chance to revisit his past, to be his old self. It had also been a competition, a challenge like that phony cup, and in Rome, Angel had wanted to win so badly, to know that his destiny hadn't been usurped by the newest addition to his team, to be reassured that there was still one thing that he would always win at. That if the competition was for _her_, there was no way he could lose. But Spike… Angel wasn't really sure what he had been fighting for.

Had it been the same thing as him? Was Spike just trying to compete? Or was it something more? _Spike, _he thought, _what am I going to tell Buffy? _He had never gotten a definitive answer on where she and Spike had stood during his visit to Sunnydale, although his scent had been all over her. All Buffy would admit to was that she cared for him. But in what way? Were they friends, lovers? Angel had no idea if Buffy even knew of Spike's resurrection and he was sure that he did not want the burden of telling her. This was getting much too complicated. It was one thing to fantasize about a real reunion with Buffy, one in which the memory of Cordelia did not haunt him constantly, and Buffy wasn't _attached_ in some way to Spike, it was another to actually live it.

The sound of his office doors being opened shattered his mental musings. _Great, _he thought, _just the person I wanted to see. _

"Hey, big fella," Spike said, striding through the office to lean on the edge of Angel's desk. He took a long drink from Angel's mug of pig's blood and wrinkled his nose. "You really should get more of that otter, I can get pig anywhere. Takes all the fun out of nicking your stuff. Well, not _all_ the fun—"

"Now's not really a good time, Spike," Angel said, leaning back in his chair. He was far too stressed to even mention how annoying, irritating, or any other synonym of such, that the other ensouled vampire was to him.

Spike seemed to notice and frowned. "Something wrong?"

"No, it's just…" Angel trailed off. It was now or never. "I've been thinking. About Buffy."

Spike froze mid-sip before lowering the mug from his lips. He cleared his throat, but didn't quite meet Angel's eyes. "Yeah, what about her?"

"Did you ever…I mean does she…?" Angel stopped, he wasn't sure how to ask this question.

"Does she what?" Spike asked, staring at him intensely.

"Does she know about this? I mean, did you ever tell her that you were back?" Angel asked. There, he'd said it.

Spike huffed. "I didn't, but maybe she knows, I'm not sure…"

"How can you not be sure?" Angel asked, his voice rising slightly.

"Andrew, mate," Spike said simply, casually inspecting the items strewn on Angel's desk, twirling a silver pen between white fingers before replacing it.

"Andrew told her?"

"I told him not to, told him _I _wanted to be the one to let her know, you know?" Spike said.

"But you didn't…" Angel said.

"I almost did, couple of times," Spike said with a sniff, no longer looking at Angel, but staring at the office floor, lips pursed, eyes thoughtful. He cracked a smile and gave a short, mirthless laugh. "Oh, who am I kidding? I almost call her every day," Spike froze, "I didn't just tell you that."

Angel grinned, leaning back in his chair.

"Don't you laugh, Angel," Spike said, standing up and pacing the room. "I love that girl, love her like…" he paused, "why am I talking to you about this?"

"Honestly, I don't really know," Angel said and almost killed the serious moment, he stopped himself. "But you want to tell her?"

"God yes," Spike said, staring at the mug.

"I know you clearly _don't_ want to talk to anyone about this, least of all me," Angel said, folding his hands as he leaned across the desk. "But, why don't you?"

"Lot's of reasons," Spike replied.

"Tell me one."

Spike cocked an eyebrow. Angel crossed his arms. "Spike, don't be difficult. I'm just curious."

"Well, went out in a big blaze of bloody glory, didn't I?" Spike said, returning the mug to the desk. He was looking anywhere but Angel as he spoke. "Had on my mystic amulet, lights shining all around, destroying all the nasties trying to crawl out of hell…and holding Buffy's hand. I can't top that, mate. Can't top that moment for her, having her see me like that? And I can't top it for myself, it's the way I want to die. Taking it back now would just ruin it."

Angel's jaw was set in a hard line. "But what about Buffy?"

Spike rolled his eyes and walked away.

"Spike," Angel called after him as he reached the door. He stood and followed him, holding the door shut with one hand as Spike tugged the handle. "There's something else, isn't there?"

"Let go of the sodding handle," Spike growled, almost succeeding in pulling it open, but not quite.

"No," Angel insisted, slamming the door back against its hinges. "What is it that you're so afraid of, huh? Are you scared to tell her you lied? Or maybe it's that you slept with my secretary and now you think she'll see it as cosmic cheating?"

"Let go of it, you ponce," Spike said again, wrenching the office door open an inch or so.

Angel tightened his hold on the handle and threw his full weight on the door, slamming it shut. "Not until you tell me," he said, straining with effort to fight the other vampire's strength.

Spike sucked in a breath through his teeth before fixing his gaze on Angel. His pull on the door handle relaxed as he finally spoke. "Fine, since you've got to know so bad. Don't see why you do since you said it yourself. Buffy never really loved me."

Angel felt as though cold water had soaked him to the bone. He'd forgotten about what he said during their fight for the cup. He had let his darker side out in that moment, wanted to hurt Spike with more than just his fists.

"If I go back to her now, alive and well, she might just take back those last words, that last night…" Spike trailed off and Angel was shocked to see the barest glimmers of tears in his eyes. Spike seemed to notice Angel's stunned expression and gave the other vampire an expertly timed shove. He instantly released his grip on the handle and stumbled back. Spike continued. "I couldn't take it if she did that. So there, old man, there's your bloody reason."

Spike left with a slam of the door and Angel retreated to his desk, picked up his mug, and walked back to the window. Everything had just become much more complicated.


	2. Chapter 2

**Disclaimer: **Everything in the Buffyverse belongs to Joss and Mutant Enemy. I just play.

**Author's Note: **Thanks so much for the reviews, favorites, and follows. These make me a very happy author! Please read and review.

The Viper sped down the California road, leaving a cloud of dust in its wake. How Saturday had come so quickly was a mystery to Angel, his week had been occupied by more pressing things. _The Circle of Black Thorn,_ he thought, furrowing his brow. They were top priority. They needed to go down. His preoccupation with the secret evil had become an obsession. Driving out to the middle of the desert for coffee with his ex-girlfriend in the midst of all that was happening was so surreal that he almost cracked a smile. Almost.

The sun was just setting, drenching the landscape in deep oranges and purples, both beautiful and ominous. There was a big fight coming, Angel knew, and it had the potential to be an apocalypse the likes of which he had never experienced. Scratch that, it could be _The_ Apocalypse, the honest to God End. There was so much to prepare for, so many plans to make. So few days were left until inevitable chaos, and he had barely scratched the surface of what needed to be done. Angel berated himself silently for this detour. What was he doing here when the world was in peril?

Just as the sun's last rays disappeared behind the mountains, Angel pulled up to the rundown little coffee joint. His recollections of it from his last visit weren't far off in their assessment, it was a real dive. The coffee hadn't been bad, but the rough exterior, made rougher by California desert dirt, would turn away most casual travelers.

He pulled up to the building, parking marked only by rustic ropes, clearly placed there to attract tourists with a sweet spot for the Wild West. The only other vehicles were a small motorbike and a weatherworn family van. After drawing in a deep, unneeded breath, he was ready.

The restaurant was mostly deserted. A family of five sat in a corner booth beneath a lazily moving ceiling fan, the parents' eyes shadowed and tired, the children fighting over a handheld video game. The only other human being in sight was a middle-aged woman behind a cash register up front, wearing a red apron with a pen tucked behind her ear.

"Excuse me," Angel spoke up to the waitress. His eyes flickered to the cheap t-shirts and coffee mugs emblazoned with the tiny town's name behind the counter.

"Yeah sweetie, what can I do for you?" she said, smacking her gum.

"I'm meeting someone here, a girl," he said, leaning on the counter with one elbow. Angel held out his hand, "She's about this tall, blond hair, blue eyes—,"

"Really, Angel?" someone said from behind him. He turned slowly, although there was no mistaking that voice. Buffy put one hand on her hip and smiled before pointing to her eyes, "Hazel."

"Nevermind," Angel said to the woman behind the counter, but he was staring at Buffy, "I found her."

* * *

"So how has the search been, for the slayer?" Angel asked, stirring sugar into his coffee cup packet by packet.

After the initial embarrassment of their meeting, the waitress seated them in a small table near the back of the restaurant, giving them each a laminated menu that was beginning to fade. Buffy had lost weight since he'd last seen her, Angel noticed with concern. She looked leaner, a little stronger, hardly the kind of body he would have expected of a party girl in Rome.

"You look good, Buffy," he had said. He had to admit it, she was beautiful.

In the past when his compliments had come out uncomfortably, she had spun it around, made it sound sweet, and quickly proceeded to the 'basking'. This time, she almost bristled and uttered a quick, "Thanks."

After a moment's consideration about Buffy—and the knowledge that she was involved with or, at least, had something of a relationship with the Immortal in Rome—Angel decided to play it safe. He would stick to safe small talk, no flirting. Where better to start than the safest topic of all? The thing that had pervaded a good percentage of their conversations during their relationship: slaying.

"We found her," Buffy said, relaxing slightly as she sipped her sweetened drink. "She was fighting off at least four vamps when we got there last night. I guess that even a town that tiny had to have a nest. Lucky for them they had a slayer."

"Are you taking her back to Rome with you?" Angel asked, then immediately froze. If Buffy noticed anything strange about him knowing her whereabouts, she didn't say.

"No, she's going to England with Giles and Andrew to train," Buffy said, taking another sip.

"Oh." After his confrontation with Spike, the mention of Andrew sparked his interest. "Andrew seems like a good kid."

Buffy smiled fondly and said, "Yeah, he is. Well, when he's not being a big pain in the butt. I forgot that you two had met."

"He helped me with a slayer problem," Angel said and decided to push his luck. "Although, I wish you could have been there."

It came out a bit suggestively and he felt his expression soften as he spoke. _Old habits die hard_, Angel thought.

"Angel…" Buffy said, her smile fading.

He cleared his throat and decided not to press her. "How's Dawn doing?"

"For starters, she's doing _way_ better in school than I ever did," Buffy said with a genuine smile, "and, she's already fluent in Italian. She's a complete show off while I can barely roll my r's. She's happy."

"I'm glad to hear it," he said. And he was. Besides, it was nice seeing Buffy smile like that. Although, there was something off about it. Blankness in her eyes when they met his. Angel's voice softened as he leaned over the table. "And what about you? Everything all right?"

"I'm good, occasionally great," she said, "I took my vacation. I _always _wanted a vacation. I didn't go to Disneyland or whatever, but still. I'm living a Roman holiday, shoesy and boozy."

Buffy held out calf encased in a high-heeled leather boot from under the checkered table-cloth to prove it.

"So, you're doing okay?"

"Of course, why wouldn't I be?" she said, overly bright. "I mean, no it's not always sunshine and daisies in Buffyland, but—"

"It's just, after Sunnydale," Angel paused, searching for the right words. "That had to have been… traumatic."

Buffy shrugged and her face darkened slightly. "The first few months were _hell_, and not the literal kind. I should know. That kind I can deal with." Her smile faded as she gazed at the ground, "God, Xander was just…broken. We lost Anya, so many potentials, Spike…" Buffy trailed off. She was withdrawing into herself, Angel could tell. She shook her head, as if banishing the pain away and met his eyes. "How have you been, Mr. CEO? What's it like to be Angel, head of Evil Inc?"

"It's been…_different,_" he replied.

When she realized he wasn't going to say more, Buffy laughed. "Wow, Angel. And I was beginning to wonder why we used to call you Cryptic Guy. Really, how's Cordelia and your whole gang? Willow never did get a chance to fill me in, like at all, before the apocalypsing, the aftermath, and the running away to Brazil with her girlfriend…"

Angel was jolted by her lighthearted tone, fresh pain flooding him. "Cordy's dead."

"Oh no," Buffy whispered, her hand froze halfway to her coffee mug. "Angel I—how did she die?"

"Well," Angel began, clearing his throat. "It's a pretty long story, but, ah," Angel took a useless breath, "something evil crawled inside her, possessed her, and it almost killed her. She fell asleep after it was gone and, um, well she never woke up."

"God, I'm so sorry," Buffy said, her voice hushed and mournful. "It sounds like you really miss her."

Angel didn't quite know what to say. He finally found his voice, but could only get out, "I'm sorry too."

"What about your other friends?" Buffy asked. She seemed so much gentler, knowing he had lost as well.

"Wes, Gunn, and Lorne are doing all right, but Fred," Angel stopped. "We lost her too. You never met her, but I think you would have gotten along. She was a sweet girl. When I took this job, I never expected people to get hurt, to die…"

Angel paused, Buffy seemed to understand what he meant without any elaboration. She settled back in her chair and sipped her cold coffee, a somber expression on her face.

"Andrew said you didn't trust me anymore. Because of Wolfram and Hart. Believe me Buffy, it isn't like you think—"

"It's not because of the law firm," she said quietly.

Angel stopped at the sound of her angry tone. "Well, what is it then?"

Buffy opened her mouth, gaping for a moment before her face fell back into a passive mask, her voice lowering. "It's nothing."

"No," Angel said, "it's not _nothing_, Buffy. I think that I deserve to know why I had to hear that you want nothing to do with me from the mouth of a kid I barely know."

"You gave me that amulet," Buffy said.

"Wh-what?" Angel was stumped. _Okay, that was _not _what I was expecting, _he thought.

Buffy's face fell slightly, and Angel could tell from past experience that her emotions were bubbling to the surface. Whenever she made that face, tears were sure to follow.

"You mean you don't remember?" she whispered, clearly confused. "You were, there, we were talking—"

"No, it's not that," Angel shook his head and cracked a smile. "I _definitely _remember."

"Angel," Buffy said seriously. "You gave me the amulet," her eyes—how had he forgotten she had hazel eyes?—welled slightly. When Buffy next spoke, her voice broke, "and I gave the amulet to _him_."

The reality of the situation slowly sunk in. "Buffy…are you saying that you don't trust me because you think I killed _Spike_?"

"No," Buffy said. "I don't think you killed him."

"Well, I sometimes _consider _it," he mumbled, too low for her to hear.

"I killed him," Buffy said. "You just made it easier."

"Buffy, you didn't kill Spike, trust me when I say that—"

"Does it really mean anything if I didn't do it on purpose? If I didn't dust him myself?" she said. "I _knew _it was dangerous, Angel. I knew and I gave it to him anyway."

"I wanted to wear it Buffy, I was going to do it," Angel said. "I didn't mean for him to die."

"I'm trying to put Sunnydale behind me. I am trying to live my life and so far I've been doing a pretty damn good job of it. I shop, I date, I laugh and sometimes I even mean it. I came here to forgive you," Buffy paused, searching for the right words, "for not wearing it, for giving it to me in the first place, for not insisting you stay and do…something. I know it's not your fault but..."

_She really doesn't know, _Angel thought. If she did, Buffy would not be switching between cheerful, angry, and worst of all detached.

"God, look at us," Buffy said with a humorless laugh. "We're kind of tragic."

"That's what they're always saying," Angel commented.

"Whoa, hold on. I didn't mean like _us,_ us," Buffy said.

"No, I know, I—" Angel stopped as he leaned across the table, hearing the minute crackling of paper coming from the inner pocket of his coat. In the strangeness of seeing Buffy again, and with everything that was happening, he'd almost forgotten about the letter in his pocket. The one he'd scribbled out furiously the previous night in preparation for the meeting. Angel almost reached for it, but stopped himself. He needed to know something first before he gave it to her.

"Buffy, do you ever—I mean do you _still _—" he paused, unsure of what her reaction would be, "think that far ahead?"

It took her a moment to process what he was saying. Her eyes widened as if she could not comprehend the question. When she spoke, it was not the angry reaction that Angel recoiled inwardly for, her voice was calm and patient. "Honestly, Angel? I don't," Buffy paused and thought a moment, "I _can't_."

"I understand."

"You know what? I don't think you do," Buffy's voice rose, the waitress at the front turned and looked at them before returning to the register. "When I told you that, things were different. _I _was different. I've tried going down that road this year, a few times. I've been dating, sure, but I'm not ready for the kind of commitment that I know you're thinking of."

Angel leaned forward and covered her hands with his. "Buffy—"

Buffy flinched and pulled her hands away, holding them in her lap, she spoke to them instead of him. "I thought I could do this, but I can't. If this is how things are always going to be between us, maybe it's best if I go. I'm sorry, Angel."

_She can't even look at me_, Angel thought, and then another thought rang out clearly in his mind. _She doesn't know_.

Buffy gathered up her small backpack from the chair beside them, slinging it over her shoulders. She stood and turned toward the exit. When she spoke, Angel had to strain to hear her, he wasn't quite sure if he was supposed to.

"You don't know what we had."

The echo of Spike's words was enough to convince him. Angel knew what he had to do as he watched Buffy's retreating back. He stood up so hurriedly that his chair fell, just as Buffy walked out the door.

"Buffy, wait!" he called.

"Hey!" the waitress said behind him as he knocked down a display cup and shattered it. He ignored her and ran out the door behind Buffy.

"Buffy, hold on a minute," Angel called. Buffy froze, halfway to a shadowed SUV that had pulled up in front of the café, the engine purring quietly.

"What?" she snapped, blond hair whipping around her face as she turned.

Angel reached into his coat. "Look, I'm not going to try anything, if that's what you're worried about," he said, extracting the small white envelope. "I just wanted to give you this."

Buffy took it and eyed it suspiciously. "What is it?"

"Don't open it here," Angel said quickly just as she began edging it open. "Wait until you get back to wherever it is you're staying."

"Why?" Buffy asked, narrowing her eyes.

"Just trust me, you're gonna want to be alone," Angel said.

"But _what is it_?" Buffy asked again.

"It's about what happened in Sunnydale," he replied, barely meeting her eyes. "Maybe it will give you some closure."

Buffy searched his face. "Angel, what aren't you telling me?"

Angel smiled for the first time that night. "But I _am_ telling you. Buffy, I know how you felt when you lost him."

"No you don—"

"Like you're whole world just ended? Like you can hardly breathe?"

"Angel, you don't breathe," Buffy said, unamused, but she graced him with a small smile.

"That's not the point," he said. He sighed and looked away from her. "I'm never getting back what I lost, Buffy."

She tilted her head. "You aren't talking about me, are you?"

It was not a question.

Angel shrugged and began backing toward his car. "Open it when you're alone."

"Angel," Buffy called and took a tentative step toward him, the envelope clutched tightly in her hands. He stopped at the car door. "Why won't you tell me more?"

He held his hands out apologetically. "Cryptic Guy."

Buffy smiled. "How could I forget?"

He gave her a small wave, which she returned, and got back in the Viper, rolling down the windows to enjoy the night air. The desert breeze that swirled around him brought comfort. It felt like soothing fingertips on his furrowed brow. He watched her in the rearview mirror, envelope tight in hand, as she got in the SUV and disappeared over the desert horizon.


	3. Chapter 3

**Disclaimer: **None of it's mine. It all belongs to Joss and Mutant Enemy.

**Author's Note: **I've been so pleased with the reactions to the story so far, particularly reading your thoughts on Angel's role. Feel free to leave comments and reviews, they are greatly appreciated. Special note: Yes, in this chapter, I am using dialogue from Dead Things by Steven S. DeKnight (also, not mine). Credit where credit is due.

* * *

"I love you."

Buffy said it with conviction, clenching her jaw. It was a sweet release to say those words after keeping them inside her heart for so long. Her timing could not have been worse. This was not how she had imagined this moment playing out in her head. _Timing be damned_, she thought. He deserved the truth.

His smile was soft, forgiving, as his fingers flexed in hers.

"No you don't."

Buffy squeezed his hand gently, the flame between them flaring and cutting off his next words. She flinched at the sudden burning pain and took a step, dropping her hand to extinguish the fire. They stood close, almost touching. Buffy could feel the heat radiating from his body and her heart fluttered, she felt helpless. They didn't have much time.

"You think I haven't tried not to?" she asked jokingly and smiled through her tears.

"Try harder," Spike replied, his face contorting with pain as the light from within him brightened. His nostrils flared as he breathed uselessly through agony. Buffy stumbled slightly as the earth beneath her quaked, but steadied herself and stared at him, imploring.

"I am _not_ leaving you."

Spike wasn't having it, "Face facts, pet. I'm not getting out of this one in any less than a billion tiny pieces."

"There has to be a way," she whispered, strained and desperate.

Buffy reached out tentatively. Sparks flew where her fingers met the fabric of his shirt, but did not ignite. She flattened her palm against him and could feel the slow burn rising within. Slowly, she trailed her hand up until it clutched the amulet.

Spike's eyes widened as she lifted it over his head. Buff stared at the necklace in her hand for a moment, dormant and cooling. She gave it a final glance before throwing it into the rubble of the collapsing Hellmouth. The glow subsided from Spike's body, his soul resting within him, no longer causing pain. Spike gasped at the sudden relief and Buffy grasped his hand.

"We've got to get out of here," she said.

Spike stared at her in wonder. "Lead the way."

Buffy didn't need to be told twice. She ran, pulling him along to the stairs where the others had escaped, scythe held tightly in her other fist. The stairs were beginning to crumble, collapsing with the rest of Sunnydale into a crater. They skipped them two at a time, narrowly avoiding being swallowed into the abyss. A loose rock above them fell. Buffy jerked Spike against the wall, flattening her body against him. It barely missed them.

"Thanks for that," he breathed in relief. "You all right?"

Buffy nodded. "Come on."

They ran through the decimated basement, dead bodies littered the floor and made Buffy's stomach roil. She knew their names, she recognized their faces, and was having the hardest time not reaching down to shut their wide, glassy eyes. The feeling of Spike squeezing her hand softly brought her back to the present situation. There was no time to waste, they had to get out or they would be killed.

"The bus," Buffy said when they reached hall upstairs, dodging the dappled sunlight in the abandoned high school.

The yellow monstrosity could be seen through a hole in the wall, the engine already started. She looked to the sunlight outside then back to Spike again and demanded, "Take off your coat."

He did as she said and held it over his head like the burning blankets of years past. The bus shifted into drive as the ground cracked beneath it. Then there was nothing to do but run, bounding piles of rubble, bodies, and collapsing walls. Buffy tried to ignore the smoke rising off the vampire beside her and ran faster. _We're going to make it, _she thought, an internal mantra giving her hope.

"Hurry, Buffy!" Dawn screamed from the back seat. She opened the emergency door and they threw themselves inside, just as the bus gained momentum, and landed in a heap.

"Bloody hell!" Spike shouted as he started to smolder. Buffy pulled the leather duster over his head, shielding the rest of him with her body.

"Faster!" she shouted to Robin.

He revved the engine and they were off, the ground beneath them crumbling. Buffy ushered Spike into a shadowed seat in the corner, momentarily safe from the sun.

"Are you all right?" she asked, cradling his face in her hands and inspecting him for burns.

He held the coat aloft, watching for errant rays of sunlight.

"I'll be fine," he answered. "Just a little singed, but no worse for wear."

Buffy leaned in and kissed him, surprised to find she was crying and tasting her own tears.

"Shh, it's all right, love," Spike murmured, dropping the coat to pull her closer.

"I thought I lost you," she whispered against his lips.

"Course you didn't," he replied and ran a hand through her hair.

"Don't leave me," Buffy said, catching his hand and pressing it to her cheek.

"Wouldn't dream of it," Spike replied, pulling her back to him. She could feel his whisper against the shell of her ear. "I always come back."

Buffy woke abruptly as the SUV turned on a dusty road and rubbed her aching temples. The dream was back with a vengeance. It was nothing new. Buffy understood how those nightmares worked from too much past experience. The dreams would carry on and on before eventually fading out into a rare occurrence that stung and ached, but no longer tormented. But somehow this dream left her more disturbed than those of the past.

She'd had to kill Angel, it was him or the world, and there was nothing she could have done for her mother. But this pain, the simple revelation that had haunted her after Spike's death was utter torture. She could have saved him if she had just thought things through, she knew it, and apparently her dreams did too.

Sometimes she would pull off the amulet and throw it into the depths of hell, sometimes she smashed in the crystal face of it, sometimes she wore it herself before the light even started to glow, giving him time to get away.

_I could have done something, _she thought, _and I just let him burn. _

Guilt was pointless, Buffy knew, but it was still there, a dull throb in the back of her mind. So what if he had been prepared to die? She had never felt more helpless than when she stood there, unsure of what to do, while he rejected her final words to him. Now saving him haunted her every dream.

She had thought that getting away from the slayer life for a while would put a stop to the nightmares. Rome had been her first real vacation since becoming the slayer all those years ago, not counting a couple of months the summer after killing the Master. Shopping and partying became the norm there funded, in a strangely satisfying twist of fate, by the money that the old Watcher's Council left behind after their assassination. She was finally getting paid for the work she'd done, only now she wasn't doing it. Instead, that job was left up to the newly called slayers, all trained under the new and improved Council's eye and sent out to wherever they were needed. Three slayers were with Faith and Robin in Cleveland.

"Wow, you're awake?"

Dawn. Buffy had almost forgotten that she wasn't alone. Her sister sat beside her, looking bored out of her mind, arms crossed, foot tapping.

"I guess I am. What time is it?" Buffy asked and stretched.

"Late, or maybe early. I don't know, I have major jet leg," Dawn said.

"Remind me why you came with me again?" Buffy asked, rubbing her eyes.

"I thought I might be a little homesick," Dawn said and shrugged. "I was wrong. How was the meeting with Captain Forehead?"

Buffy raised an eyebrow. "Since when do you call Angel that?"

Dawn shifted uncomfortably. "Does it matter?"

Buffy sighed. She wished Dawn would stop tiptoeing around the subject of her dead not-quite-boyfriend. Buffy was getting sick of the coddling. "Dawnie—"

"Forget I said anything," Dawn said quickly. "How'd the Angel thingy go?"

"I think I filled my awkward quota for the month, but it could have been worse," Buffy said. "Is it wrong that I expected better?"

Seeing Angel for the first time since their meeting in Sunnydale had been jarring, Buffy had to admit. It brought back the reality of what had occurred that day, the confusion she'd felt, and the ensuing guilt. She had been prepared to go into that café and make her peace with the situation, just as she had been making peace with everything else for the past almost-year, trying to find closure.

"What did you talk about?" Dawn asked.

"Nothing. Everything. I don't know," Buffy said honestly. "I thought this would make me feel something _different_…but it didn't"

"Buffy, is Angel still in love with you?" Dawn asked.

Buffy frowned, considering their conversation. She hadn't been surprised that he'd known she was in Rome. Angel had always been the stalker type—was it just a vampire thing?—and now that he was the head of such a powerful law firm, with more employees at his disposal than he could count, she'd expected as much. He _cared, _clearly, but love, romantic love, that was something else. Once upon a time she would have said yes in a heartbeat, but now she was not so sure.

"I don't—"

"Don't get back together with him, Buffy," Dawn said automatically.

Buffy's eyebrows rose. "_Okay_, wasn't gonna. What's with the passionate plea, Dawn?"

Dawn frowned and crossed her arms. "It just seems like an insult to his memory, that's all. You, going back to Angel, after what he did."

"You didn't want me to date any of those guys in Rome either, but you didn't forbid me. I'm not getting back with Angel, but even if I was…" Buffy paused and met her sister's eye. "Spike is dead, Dawn. He is never coming back."

"I know."

"As much as it might hurt still, he died so we could live. That's what I'm trying to do, I'm trying to live again," Buffy said. "I mourned, okay? I still am…I still do…sometimes," Buffy stopped and looked at her hands, new resolve in her voice. "But I'm not going to live in nun-like existence just because my lover burned to death."

Dawn raised an eyebrow. Buffy could tell she was torn between mocking her for her melodrama or pushing her to open up. Both were bad options in Buffy's book.

"So you and Angel?"

"Over. It's water under the bridge," Buffy paused. "Or is it over the bridge? Whatever, either way the saying goes, we're done."

"Good," Dawn said quietly. She was waiting for Buffy to speak, to say something more. When she didn't, Dawn veered on to a new subject. "I don't know what the hell the Council was thinking with this car. It probably only gets five miles to the gallon, do you know how bad this is from the environment?"

"Yeah, but hey, it has that stealth factor they were going for," Buffy said.

"Right," Dawn said with a huff, falling back into the seat. "Well, I don't like it. It's conspicuous, not stealthy, and not to mention a total greenhouse gas hazard."

"Come on Granola Girl," Buffy said. "It's not like we're even driving that far."

They were heading down a bumpy desert road toward a small, private airstrip near where California bordered Arizona. A plane would be waiting for them to begin their journey back across the pond.

"Still, I'm totally complaining to Giles when we get back," Dawn said.

"Yep, you do that," Buffy replied, digging around in her backpack for her water bottle. Her fingers met a crinkled piece of paper. Angel's letter.

Buffy stared down at the white, slightly wrinkled envelope in her hands, turning it over and smoothing out creases. What had Angel meant 'open it when she was alone'? She had forgotten how much he could piss her off when he went into mysterious mode.

"Hey, what is that?"

"Huh?" Buffy asked, startled from her revere. "Oh, I'm not sure. Angel gave it to me."

"And you didn't open it?" Dawn asked.

"No, he was kinda weird about the whole thing…" Buffy stared down at the envelope with renewed caution. "Angel mentioned something about Sunnydale."

Sunnydale was not something she and Dawn often talked about. It was on the list of non-topics, and combining that with Buffy vowing to live an Angel-free existence made the envelope spell trouble.

"I think you should open the letter, Buffy," Dawn said. "If Angel knew something about Sunnydale, in its pre-crater days, maybe it's important."

Buffy stared down at the envelope in her hands and said softly, "I'm thinking that I won't."

"What, why not?" Dawn exclaimed.

"Because," Buffy said. "Every time that Angel does something like this, no good comes out of it. He works for Baddies Incorporated now. What if whatever's in this envelope is dangerous?"

"Buffy—"

"What if it hurts someone I care about?" she whispered, crushing the paper slightly in her fist. "I couldn't take that again."

"But, it's about _Sunnydale_," Dawn insisted.

Buffy shook her head. "Even more reason to throw it away."

Dawn rolled her eyes and leaned over the seat to snatch the paper from Buffy's fingers. "_I'll_ open it."

"Dawn, don't," Buffy warned, but her sister was already pulling the single sheet from inside the envelope as the car slowed to a stop. Buffy was only vaguely aware of the lights of the runway nearby.

"You say you don't care, Buffy, but I know you do. I do too, you aren't the only one who lost people you loved there, you know," Dawn said.

"I know," Buffy whispered. "But, Dawnie—"

Dawn paused, the folded, clearly handwritten, note halfway out of its confines just as the car stopped on the airstrip's edge. The plane was already waiting for them, engine running, courtesy of the New Watcher's Council.

The driver in the front hopped out and opened the door for them. "Ready to go?"

Buffy didn't budge. "Give me the note, Dawn."

"No," Dawn said. "You're just going to throw it away. You say you're coping Buffy, but face it, every time Sunnydale comes up you just run away from the problem. If this has anything to do with what happened, I think you need to face it."

"Dawn," Buffy said, a warning in her voice. "I am so _not_ afraid to play slayer right now."

"Fine, see if I care," Dawn said, resolve strong. "But if someone gave me something connected with the last place I saw people that I loved alive, I would read it."

"Fine," Buffy said, sighing loudly and inching closer to Dawn, who narrowed her eyes and clutched the envelope protectively, "I guess that's a good idea—give me the note, Dawn!"

Buffy snatched the letter back before Dawn could blink and held it tightly in her hand, crumpling it. She didn't care, she was sick of Dawn trying to analyze her feelings, just like she had been doing for months. The anger ebbed slightly as she stared down at the balled up paper in her hands. Buffy comforted Dawn when she had sobbed about her mother and Tara's graves being destroyed in the Hellmouth's collapse, when she had curled up in her bed in the middle of the night to apologize for never making up with Spike, or for resenting Anya back in the days of her crush on Xander. Dawn kept trying to do the same for Buffy and all she did was push her away. What kind of a sister was she? Guilt overwhelmed her. Dawn was only trying to help. She smoothed the crinkled paper and got out of the car. Dawn followed, shooting Buffy a glare.

"I'm sorry, Dawnie," she said as Dawn pushed past her on the runway. "I'm just…I thought I was over everything and seeing Angel again just made it all real."

"It was always real," Dawn said bitterly.

"I know," Buffy murmured and reached out to touch her sister's shoulder, "I'll read it."

Dawn slowed down and fell into step beside Buffy, walking toward the plane. "Really, you aren't just saying that?"

Buffy shook her head. "Nope, I'll open it, read it, and even write a thesis about it, if that will make you feel better. I promise."

Dawn brightened slightly. "Good. Now, about the in flight movie, please tell me that it's something other than that comedy we had on the way over, because that thing was crap."

Buffy smiled at the sight of her sister running up the plane steps, Dawn's thoughts removed from collapsing Hellmouths to more mundane things. _That makes one of us, _Buffy thought. At least she hadn't screwed things up with Dawn. After that meeting, the last thing she wanted was more emotional stress.

As if on cue, Dawn peered around the open plane door. "Buffy! This jet is _way_ nicer than the last one Giles chartered, they have these tiny little bottles of—"

"Don't drink them," Buffy said quickly, not even looking up.

"But you let me drink in Italy," Dawn protested.

"We aren't in Italy, are we?"

Dawn's long hair whipped around as she huffed and stalked back into the plane.

Buffy rolled her eyes and paused at the plane door, holding the envelope in her hands. What was in it? The thought of Angel knowing something that he didn't want to share with her in person was a strange one. It was going to either devastate her or really piss her off. Maybe both. Buffy glanced up at the stars, billions of them in the night sky and back down at the note, folded and clumsily stuffed back in the envelope. She _was_ technically alone. Somehow, it felt like the right time.

Unsure and suddenly nervous, Buffy pulled the note out with shaking fingers. She recognized Angel's cultured, slanted writing instantly. Each letter was carefully formed, almost cautiously. Her eyes roamed the page, it was short, just a few small paragraphs. She began skimming and froze as words jumped out at her. Buffy's eyes were huge on her face, her brows knotted. Her chest felt constricted, too tight. Buffy swallowed and read it again, shocked to see the ink bleeding before she realized that it was a tear she'd shed that caused it.

"Buffy, come on," Dawn called from inside the plane. "We're getting ready for takeoff."

Buffy shook her head, a hand to her mouth and crumbled the note in her fist before dropping it to the ground. Slowly, as if an outside entity controlled her body, Buffy walked down the steps. The moment her feet touched ground, her pace quickened. She was barely aware of running, then sprinting toward the SUV. She wrenched the door open violently, the hinges creaking in protest to her strength, but Buffy didn't care.

The keys were still in the ignition, the driver stood twenty feet away, speaking on his cell phone.

"Buffy!"

Someone was calling her name. _Dawn, _the small part of her brain that was still working piped up.

"You can't do that!" the driver yelled.

Buffy's eyes widened as he ran over, flipping his phone shut. She started up the car and put it in drive, barely missing him as she sped off. The tires screeched and the car bumped along in protest as she drove through a short expanse of wild desert before finding the road with her headlights. She slammed her foot on the gas, hard, and the car roared away into the night.

"If this is a sick joke, I swear I'll stake him myself," she said, watching the speedometer go up past ninety. Buffy ran her hand under her eyes, catching stray tears and wiping them away in a smear of mascara. Hastily, she rubbed at the smudges, swerving the SUV slightly before getting it back on track.

She knew what she was doing was insane, certifiable, but couldn't bring herself to care. If Angel was telling the truth, she wanted to see for herself.


	4. Chapter 4

**Disclaimer: **Nothing from the Buffyverse belongs to me. It's all the property of Joss and Mutant Enemy.

"Pick up, damn it," Dawn said under her breath as the phone sounded its eighth ring. _It's like eight a.m., shouldn't Giles be getting tea and scones by now? _Dawn thought and tapped her foot. She stood inside the airport's dingy office. It smelled like cigarette smoke, coffee, and something from the copy machine. She was tired and angry and sick of the stupid gray room. "Come on, Giles."

"Hello?"

"Giles!" Dawn yelled. She heard the sound of the phone hitting the floor and Giles exclaiming before putting it back to his ear.

"Good heavens, Dawn?" he asked. "What are you calling for? I'd thought you'd gone to California with Buffy."

"I did," Dawn explained, losing patience.

"Then why aren't you on the plane? It's at least one o'clock in the morning," Giles said. "Did something happen? Were you attacked?"

"No, I'm fine," Dawn explained. "But Buffy isn't."

"Buffy's in danger?" Giles asked, clearly concerned.

"No, at least, I don't think so," Dawn said.

"For God's sake, Dawn, tell me what's going on."

"I'm trying to!" Dawn exclaimed. "Would you just listen for a minute?"

Giles mumbled on the other end, at a loss for words.

"Giles, Buffy's missing," Dawn said quietly. "She got this letter, from Angel, and she just disappeared."

"Was it a mystical disappearance?" he asked.

"No, I mean she literally stole the car you sent us and drove into the desert. Giles, you should have seen her face," Dawn said.

"I take it she was distressed," Giles replied.

"Yeah, she completely wigged out. I mean, she looked like someone made her swallow her own tongue," Dawn said.

"Good Lord," Giles said softly. He cleared his throat. "It seems that whatever was in this letter caused Buffy a good deal of emotional stress. Now, um, Dawn, I'll send someone out for her, as soon as I can. Right now I want you to stay at the airport."

"But, Giles—"

"No, no buts about it, Dawn. You should remain there where it's safe. Buffy can take care of herself for the time being and we'll find her as soon as we can. I promise."

Dawn almost screamed in frustration as Giles hung up the phone. There had to be something she could do. Waiting around for the council to solve their problems had never been Buffy's style and it wouldn't be hers either. On impulse, Dawn began dialing another number.

"Come on," Dawn murmured.

"Hello?" Willow said, her voice groggy with sleep.

"Willow!"

Willow yawned. "Dawnie?"

"Yes, it's me," Dawn said, a nervous tremor in her voice. "Willow, you've got to help, Buffy's gone. She just took off, we can't find her anywhere. I'm totally freaking out and Giles is completely useless!"

"Slow down. What's going on? What happened to Buffy?" Willow asked.

"I'm telling you, I don't know," Dawn said, her voice tearful. "Please, Willow, you've got to help me. She got this letter from Angel, she read it, and the next thing I knew she was driving away in the council's gas guzzler!"

"Did she say anything before she left?" Willow asked.

"Um, Willow, we're talking about Buffy. Does she ever?" Dawn said. "Can you just get here quick? We need to find her and you're the closest last time I checked."

"Kind of," Willow said. "I'm in Mexico," her voice lowered glumly, "having all kinds of post-breakup fun."

"Well can't you just, I don't know, _magick _yourself here?" Dawn asked, threading the phone cord through her fingers.

"I don't know, Dawn, that stuff if kinda dangerous, not to mention difficult—"

"Please, Willow?" Dawn asked, her voice tearful. "We're in the middle of nowhere, she could be hurt."

"I'll see what I can do," Willow said. "I'll be there within the next few hours."

"Thanks," Dawn said in relief. "Please hurry."

Dawn wandered away from the phone. It all felt futile, even Willow would need hours to get to the airport. Dawn had never felt more useless, just the weak little former energy blob who couldn't even help find her own sister. Walking back outside to the runway made her feel a bit better. She could see every star in the sky, spread above the earth like a dome. It was almost cold. Weren't deserts supposed to be hot? Dawn sighed. _So useless,_ she mused.

Desperate, she cupped her hands around her mouth and yelled, "Buffy!"

It was no use. Dawn wanted to scream in frustration. Buffy had always kept things to herself, but this was ridiculous. Would it have killed her to give some warning? Dawn wrapped her arms around herself and paced the length of the airstrip. Maybe, Buffy would come driving back. Dawn wanted to be there when she did. A glint of white on the dark asphalt of the runway caught her eye. Dawn walked forward and bent to pick it up.

It was a crumpled piece of stationary, businesslike paper that screamed corporate. Wolfram and Hart was printed in plain font in the top left corner. Dawn frowned as she recognized the clean cursive writing. Angel. This was Angel's note, the one that had made Buffy so upset. Dawn unfolded the crinkled ball that Buffy had crushed it into, her hands trembling.

She skimmed it over, her mouth dropping open in surprise.

"Oh my God," Dawn said slowly. _Poor Buffy_, she thought, her own brain reeling in shock as she read the letter, _but hey, also yay for Buffy.._._kind of._ There would be time for sorting out the confusion later. This was an emergency.

Dawn strode confidently over to one of the white pickup trucks with the airport name printed on the side in blocky black letters.

"Hey," she said to the man in the hardhat driving it, trying her best to imitate that level of confidence Buffy could put on, that commanding presence that Dawn could never really get a handle on perfecting. No time like the present for practice.

The man hopped out of the vehicle, looking confused. "You shouldn't be out here miss," he said. "Not unless you're boarding."

Dawn ignored him and crossed her arms. "I need your truck."

"My what?" he asked and shook his head. "Look, kid, go inside, get some coffee. Do you want me to call someone for you?"

Dawn walked as menacingly as she could and grabbed the man's throat, pushing him down onto the hood of the car. He stared up at her in shock. Normally she wouldn't be strong enough to hold him, but he was so surprised he could only stare like a dead fish.

"You're going to listen to me now," Dawn said slowly. "My sister is out there in the desert all alone and nobody we know is close enough to help me find her. And I am _not_ involving the police. This is an emergency. Now give me your damn keys."

The man nodded mutely and reached into his pocket to pull out a key ring.

Dawn took it and smiled sweetly before releasing him. "Thank you. Now if any stuffy English guys show up looking for Dawn Summers, tell them I'm finding my sister. You got that? Good."

She stifled a giggle as he backed away from her slowly and allowed her to get in the car. Dawn settled down in the seat and started up the ignition.

"No big," she said to herself. "Just like driving a go kart at the state fair. When I was five…"

_Get over it, Dawn,_ she told herself and put the car in drive. Tire marks from the stolen SUV trailed through a crushed patch of cactus and rock before swerving back onto the road. Buffy had gone that way.

_Hang in there, Buffy, _Dawn thought, following the marks. _Hang on._

* * *

_Dear Buffy,_

_I'm not sure how to say this, but here goes. Around three weeks after Sunnydale was destroyed, I got an interesting piece of mail at my new office. Inside of the package was an amulet, the one that Spike used to destroy the Hellmouth. In the amulet was Spike. I'm not entirely sure what happened, he came out of it like a ghost, incorporeal. Well, now he has his body back, and is just as annoying as ever. He's been working with me, sort of, although he's not exactly an employee. A better way to put it would be to say that he took over my old job, helping the helpless._

_There's an apocalypse coming, The Apocalypse in fact, and it's less than days away. I'm planning on fighting and I will be asking my team for help. Although I can't tell you much, I want you to know that I don't plan on making it out alive and if Spike fights with me, he won't either._

_If you're wondering why I'm telling you this, I don't exactly have an answer for that myself. He wanted to tell you, so I suspect you would want to know, and I certainly never helped him to try. I don't know anything about what happened between you last year and I don't want to. I do know that I care about you and that if it were me, I would expect someone to let me know. _

_Best regards,_

_Angel_

* * *

"No," Buffy groaned, looking under the hood of the car as smoke curled out into the night. She slammed it down as hard as she could, satisfied when she saw it dent.

The tire had been the first to go, maybe thirty miles outside of the airport, no doubt brought on by her little venture through the cactus and rocks. It had been flapping uselessly, making noise, but she drove on as best she could. Then the car had to run out of gas. Did Dawn _always_ have to be right?

Buffy sank to the ground beside the SUV, leaning her head back against the cool metal. The sun was coming up. She could see its early rays already peeking over the horizon.

"Great," she said aloud. "First this stupid thing runs out of gas. Now, I'm gonna die out here."

Maybe she shouldn't have tried driving it on an empty tank, then pushing it, then breaking the hood. Buffy couldn't think of those things, all that she could think of Spike in L.A. waiting for her.

_Spike's alive, Spike's alive, _her brain kept saying over and over. This was followed quickly by, _Spike's going to die, Spike's going to die. Angel. Apocalypse. _

That's what the letter had said in any case. An apocalypse was coming, the Big One, the apocalypse to end all—_What _is _the plural of apocalypse anyway? _Buffy thought. It didn't really matter. The only thing that held any importance was getting to L.A. for an explanation. Why hadn't they told her?

"Vampires," she mumbled, kicking a small pebble with the toe of her boot.

From her quick reading of Angel's letter, he knew they would probably die if they were willing to help him, all of them, his whole team. And Angel sounded so sure that they would be. Buffy growled in frustration and elbowed the car, leaving an even larger dent than the one on the hood. It took her a moment to realize that she was laughing, honestly laughing with tears of mirth falling from her eyes. She shook with it, banging her head back against the car's cool metal side. _Spike is alive, _she thought, _and he didn't tell me. _Angel _told me. God he must hate me, he must…_

Buffy had fantasized that he would come back on more than one occasion. After all, Angel had come back from Hell, running to her arms. She had waited, with the barest hope for those first few months that maybe, just maybe, Spike would do the same. He would rise from his own ashes or perhaps be called back by some mystical force, and show up on her doorstep. In her life, that kind of miracle was possible. It had to be. The day that she had realized it wouldn't happen, Buffy had broken.

They had all been in Cleveland, preparing to go their separate ways. Willow and Kennedy had been on the rocks, but decided to travel together to Brazil so Willow could study more magic and maybe salvage their relationship. Buffy had decided on Rome. Dawn wanted to go to school there and Buffy needed to forget, to start over.

That thought was painful and with it came stark reality. What if Spike didn't love her anymore? Had he finally given up, after everything that they had gone through in Sunnydale's final year? _I still love him, _she thought.

It wasn't fair that he had died when she was finally ready, after so long, to be with him. Even more horrible was the thought that he should come back only to be taken away from her again. _But that's how it is for all of us, _she thought, _that's what happened to Willow and Tara, Xander and Anya. You finally realize how much you need someone and then poof, they're gone. _

Buffy didn't need happily ever after. She had given up on that lie a long time ago. _I just want to understand. _

There was no time to understand, the end was coming and soon. From what the letter had said, Buffy guessed it at a few days or so, maybe less. Knowing her luck, definitely less. She had to do something.

The sound of a car door slamming startled her.

"Buffy!"

"Dawn?" she asked, standing shakily.

"Oh my God," Dawn said angrily, advancing on her. "You absolute _jerk_! I cannot believe you did that. Do you know all of the horrible things I thought might have happened to you? They involved coyotes and canyons and cactuses, Buffy!"

Buffy crossed her arms, holding herself together.

"Dawn," she said hoarsely. "Please, just, don't start on me right now."

"Oh, Buffy," Dawn said.

The next second, she was in her sister's arms, being squeezed tightly. In that moment, Buffy decided she was done being strong, she let it all out as Dawn hugged her.

"Is it true, is he really back?" Dawn asked.

"I don't know," Buffy sobbed against her shoulder. "What if he isn't, what if I'm getting my hopes up for nothing?"

"Would Angel lie?" Dawn asked.

Buffy sniffed. "I don't know. Maybe he thought it would be funny."

Dawn pulled back and quirked an eyebrow. "And Mr. Dark and Broody has a sense of humor since when?"

Buffy had to smile at that one.

"Okay, maybe it's not that, but I had to go and see for myself. I had to know," Buffy said.

"Well, I didn't murder the car I drove in," Dawn prompted with a disapproving glance at the ruined SUV. "We could go. Right now. And if Angel's screwing with you, I'll totally kick his ass."

Buffy laughed warmly. She thought for a moment and her eyes widened. "N-no."

"No?" Dawn repeated.

"No." Buffy was smiling now. Genuinely smiling. "I have a better idea."


	5. Chapter 5

**Disclaimer: **Not a blessed thing in the Buffyverse belongs to me. It's all the property of Joss and Mutant Enemy.

**Author's Note: **Thank you so much for all the amazing responses so far! A special thanks to all of those who have read and reviewed! I really enjoy hearing your opinions and comments. Thanks as well to anyone who followed or made a favorite of this story.

Note, this chapter contains brief language, but it should still be fine for a T rating. It also contains dialogue from the episode _Chosen_, written by Joss Whedon. Here's chapter 5.

* * *

Spike knocked back another shot as he contemplated what Angel had instructed them to do. Well if it really was the last day of his unlife, he might as well get drunk. There was one thing he knew he had to do today, if it really was his last chance, his last day alive. But even old Jack wasn't doing much to calm his nerves as Spike stared at the phone before him.

What had he done on his last day before the most recently averted apocalypse? He'd been filled in on the plan for the calling of the new slayers, and heard Buffy give an inspirational speech or two. All of those details, except the joy of his morning waking up wrapped around Buffy and the sound of her voice had become blurry with memory.

Before the soul, after the soul, Spike had never imagined that Buffy would allow him to touch her again. He didn't deserve to. Holding her in that abandoned house all night had been more than he'd ever imagined.

Then Angel had showed up and though Spike swore he would never lay any claim to her, it had cut him deeply to see them together. Spike remembered pummeling a drawing in the basement because hitting the real thing would have hurt _her_ too much. Acting in possessiveness would have meant he still harbored the idea that she would love him someday. Truth be told, he had given up on the blissful fantasy long ago.

But then she had surprised him again.

"_Faith still has my room," she said coyly, glancing up at him with hopeful eyes. _

"_Well you're not staying here. You can't buy me off with shiny beads and sweet talk. You've got Angel breath. I'm not gonna just let you whack me back and forth like a rubber ball. I've got my pride, you know," he responded. _

"_I understand," she said and turned to go. _

_He skirted around her, making her stop. "Clearly you don't, cause the whole 'having my pride' thing was just a smokescreen."_

_Buffy laughed in relief. "Oh thank God."_

"_I don't know what I would've done if you'd gone up those stairs," he said._

_She lay her hand against his cheek. _

"_Let's not find out," she said, the hand on his face stroking softly. To his shock, she closed the gap between them, her lips meeting his. _

_He kissed her back, but only barely, only as long as she wanted. The minute she pulled away, he stopped, didn't touch her. He didn't ask for more. _

_Buffy frowned, searching his face, and almost pouting. God, he wanted her. Spike wasn't sure what to expect, but Buffy coming closer and winding her arms around his neck was not it. Slowly, he wrapped his arms around her waist, breathing in her scent, despite the lingering traces of Angel. _

"_You aren't mad then?" she asked, her voice muffled against his shoulder._

"_About what?" he asked. He dared to kiss the top of her head. _

"_The Angel thing," she replied. "I wasn't—"_

"_Shh," he stopped her, touched that she cared enough to spare his feelings. "Don't have to explain anything."_

"_But I do—"_

_Spike shook his head. He pulled away slightly and stared at the dark circles under her eyes. "You look tired."_

_Buffy laughed and began shrugging her jacket off. "Try exhausted. They're going to have to invent new words for how tired I am."_

_She caught his hand in hers, winding her fingers around it. _

"_You want to go to sleep then?" he asked, his voice low. _

_Buffy nodded and stepped forward to give him a brief kiss that had him more confused than ever. "Yeah, just let me change."_

_She rummaged through a box and pulled out a pair of sleep pants. He turned away. _

"_You don't have to do that, you know," she said, finally dressed and moving to turn off the light. _

_Spike sighed and sat on the cot. "I know."_

_Buffy sat next to him and clasped her hands in her lap. "Why'd you go all shy guy on me then?"_

_Spike inhaled deeply. "You know why."_

_Buffy shook her head and reached up to gently caress his face. "Don't do that. Don't pull away from me."_

_He caught her hand and held it before lying down. Buffy curled up in front of him and squeezed his fingers gently. _

"_Buffy?" he asked. "What does this mean?"_

"_I don't know…" she mumbled, giving in to sleep. "Cookies…"_

_Spike rolled his eyes at her sleep talking and kissed her forehead. "You rest now, love."_

Spike took another shot, lost in his memories. She had cared enough after Angel left to try to comfort him, to try to spare him the heartbreak of seeing them back together. At least, that was what he told himself. It was enough that she finally trusted him, trusted him enough to sleep wrapped up in his arms.

_Spike stared at the amulet in his hands. He could feel the power emulating from it, a strange sort of pulse. With that came a small measure of dread. Yes it was very powerful. Volatile, Buffy had called it. He might very well die the next day and though there was a prickle of fear attached to being dust, with it came acceptance. _

_He stood when he heard her come in. It still amazed him that she wanted to be there. This could be her last night alive and she came to him. They stood at opposite ends of the basement. Buffy strode forward, faster and faster until she caught his face in her hands and kissed him. It was different than the way she had the night before. That had been soft and sweet and hesitant. This was urgent and pleading. _

_Spike broke away. "Buffy, you don't have to—"_

_She kissed him again, pushing him backwards until he stood with the cot at the backs of his knees. Buffy caught his hand and brought it to her waist. He pulled her closer instinctively. _

"_I know I don't," she whispered, closing her eyes to kiss him again. "I want to. I want this."_

_How could he say no?_

The memory of making love to her on that small basement cot would never leave him, never fade. It had given closure to the violence of their past, he had found forgiveness.

It had been a pity fuck, Spike realized as Buffy lay sleeping, warm and curled against his side. The thought was heartbreaking, but it couldn't have been anything else. She had been worried for him, she knew the amulet was dangerous. Buffy had wanted him to have that closure in case he died. He had contented himself with the fact that she would never love him, care for him perhaps, care more deeply than he had ever dreamed she would, but never love. It was enough. That last night was enough. It was her way of forgiving him for the unspeakable thing he had done, and Spike vowed to never push her for more if they both survived. Spike knew that live or die their last kiss before leaving for the high school would be just that, the very last.

Then he had started to burn as the amulet worked its magic. She had said it, the three words he had been waiting to hear her say for years. The shock of it had been too much. He rebuffed her and told her to run. Only when he saw the hurt in her eyes and the pain of rejection, then her retreating back did he believe. It dawned on him, Buffy loved him. The best moment of his life. He had died laughing, and loved, and at peace.

Well that was all good and buggered now.

Ever since his time with Angel had planted the first seeds of doubt, Spike had wondered. Did he misinterpret her final words to him? Had it been as he originally feared? While he was burning he had been sure, so sure, but now...

It had been nothing more than giving him what he wanted to hear.

"Oh, bollocks," he whispered, his fingers dancing over the phone. Say she _had _meant it. That was then. She was with the Immortal now, he'd seen her dancing in that club, which was evidence enough that she'd moved on. Another thought struck. Would she ever forgive him for not telling her about his resurrection sooner?

_This is your last chance_, he told himself_, you're gonna die tonight. This is it_.

In an instant he was dialing. Each ring of the phone was a step closer to hanging up. _This is Buffy_, he reminded himself, _I__t's Buffy_.

Then her voice was in his ear. Spike's heart leapt to his throat and immediately crashed back down.

"Ciao, hi! You've reached Buffy and Dawn. We're not home right now, but leave us a message and we'll call you right back."

Beep.

Spike took a breath. A needless, useless breath, but somehow it helped.

"Buffy," he said and cleared his throat. "I, ah...I don't really know how to explain this to you, I'm still not completely sure about what happened myself. It's me, Spike, back from the grave."

He paused. "If I'm still around tomorrow, I'm calling again, and I'll spell it all out, plain and simple. Trouble is, it's not likely that's gonna happen. I, um, well I wanted to hear your voice, hoped I'd talk to you a bit, but the message machine's enough," he paused and blurted out, "I'm probably going to die tonight, a real dusty ending this time. Won't be spit out by any amulet. Although, I guess you don't know anything about that... I just wanted to let you know that I'm sorry I didn't tell you before and that if I could change things I would do this different," he stopped for a moment, "and that I love you."

Spike sighed, unwilling to hang up just yet. "Bye then, love."

The phone met the receiver. It was done.

"That felt a bit poetic," he mused, knocking back another shot. With that, he headed out to find the nearest bar.

* * *

Buffy stood in a gate of Long Beach Airport, Dawn at her side, watching as passengers flying in from Mexico City filtered off the plane. They had arrived there that morning after a quick phone call to Giles, another to Willow in Mexico, and a third to Xander in Africa. Now it was late, the sun had already set, as they waited for Willow's plane to arrive.

"I hope she's not mad about the huge change of plans," Dawn said.

"Well, you did call her in the middle of the night to tell her I was in unspeakable danger," Buffy said, "only to have me tell her about all of _this_ an hour later while she was packing. I'm sure it was no biggie. Possibly completely stress free."

"Good thing she needed to pack," Dawn commented, ignoring Buffy's grin and craning her neck to see over the flood of people. "We need her for this one."

"You're not wrong there," Buffy said, standing on tiptoe with Dawn, eyes searching.

Red hair stood out from the crowd.

"Willow!" Buffy yelled, running forward to catch her up in a tight hug. Willow dropped her luggage and hugged back. "How was Mexico?"

"Extremely fun and very sunny," Willow said with an extra tight squeeze. "I met up with this amazing coven in Mexico City. They were unbelievable. Those sisters really knew their stuff."

"You didn't drink the water, did you? Because I've heard some pretty scary stories," Buffy said, pulling back to look her over.

"No, no I bought bottled like a good girl," Willow affirmed. "Cross my heart."

"Good, because I need non-germy Willow with me on this one," Buffy said.

"I can't believe it, The Apocalypse, and in L.A. of all places," Willow mused, retrieving her fallen suitcase. "I always thought that Sunnydale would be the place for the Big One when it went down."

"I know, I can't believe it either," Buffy said.

"So what do you think will happen?" Dawn piped up, falling into step with Buffy as they walked to the next gate.

"I don't know," Buffy said. "But whatever it is, we'll be prepared."

They stopped outside of the next gate and waited. Almost all the people were off the plane, wearing bright shirts that screamed tourist, and mulling around the airport.

"Where's—Xander!" Buffy saw him first. She ran over, Willow and Dawn close behind.

"Good to see you, Buff," Xander said, squeezing her tight. "Watch the eye patch."

"I call next hug!" Dawn said, throwing her arms around his neck.

"Hey, you're all tan," Buffy observed.

"Yep," Xander said a bit breathlessly as Dawn squeezed tight. "The sun over there will do that to you."

"And ooh, look," Willow moved in to hug next and patted his arm. "You're more muscley."

"Gee, ladies, you're making me blush," he said.

"So fill me in, you never did," Buffy began, taking one of Xanders suitcases and began walking. "What were you doing in Africa?"

"A little of this, a little of that," Xander said nonchalantly. "Thought it was about time I had my own adventure."

"Adventurous details please," Willow said.

Xander thought for a moment and snapped his fingers. "Oh, I met this shaman who could only use demonic energy to heal foot scabs that had started to ooze."

"Yuck," Buffy said, "To the energy and the…foot thingies."

"Hey, don't knock it until you've been walking through the desert in highly uncomfortable shoes for two days," Xander said.

"Did you bring presents?" Dawn asked hopefully.

"All in good time," Xander replied, but patted his carry on bag knowingly.

As Dawn pestered Xander for a souvenir, Buffy fell into step with Willow and turned to head to the terminal where the slayers waited.

"He seems better, don't you think?" Willow asked in a hushed voice. "I mean, on a scale of how he was before to now, I'd say, better."

Buffy frowned as Xander allowed Dawn to hop on his back and ran her through the crowd. His smile was just a bit too bright. He was trying so hard for them.

"Give him time," Buffy said softly. She picked up the luggage Xander dropped when he started running. "How have you been Will?"

"Oh, a little broken hearted, but no worse for wear," she replied with a nervous giggle.

"Do you need to talk about it? You totally have my permission to cry," Buffy said. "I mean it, ice cream, sappy movies. The whole girly heartbreak package."

"Nah," Willow said. "I'm mostly over it. I never really thought that it would last too long. Kennedy was my…"

"Rebound girl?" Buffy prompted.

"Yeah," Willow confirmed. A goofy smile bloomed on her face. "But it was pretty great while it lasted."

Buffy caught the glint in her eye. "Dirty details later, lover girl, right now, I've got some speechmaking to do."

"So we're really going in?" Willow asked as they entered the terminal. "Fighting in the Big One?"

"Well, they need us in L.A.," Buffy said briskly.

"But they don't know we're coming?" Willow asked.

"No, not exactly…"

Willow cleared her throat. "Buffy, I heard…about Spike."

Buffy froze.

"Dawn told me this morning," Willow explained.

"Does Xander know?" Buffy asked quietly.

"No, I didn't tell him…I thought you might want to," Willow said. "I'm not sure how he'll take it."

"I know he didn't like him. Like _at all_—"

Willow shook her head. "It's not that. It's the," she lowered her voice, "the _Anya thing_."

Buffy didn't know what to say. "Oh."

"Yeah," Willow said. For a moment they were silent. "How do you feel about it? Seeing him again? I, uh, I know how you felt about him."

"Honestly, Will? I'm just hoping he isn't dust before I do."

"Let's go make sure that doesn't happen," Willow said with a smile.

* * *

Buffy was shaking. She couldn't help it. Standing in the middle of a crowded terminal, laying out a plan for the Baby Slayers, and earning weird looks from travelers heaving heavy luggage was a surreal experience. Even more surreal was what she was proposing.

"They need our help in L.A.," Buffy continued on. _I'm getting rusty at this speech thing, _she thought. "Angel may think he can handle this on his own, fight this unspeakable evil. But he can't. He needs slayers. He needs _us_. That's why we're going to help."

The slayers murmured in agreement.

_Maybe not so rusty._

"So, let's get out there. Beat down this Dog, Cat, and Bunny, or whatever," one of the slayers, Veronica, said.

"That's the plan, but first, ground rules," Buffy began. "From what I know, Angel's team has certain people not of the human persuasion that you cannot attack under any circumstances. First, Angel, yes, he's a vampire but—"

"He has a soul," Dawn finished, rolling her eyes. "Well if you've heard it once you've heard it a thousand times," she mumbled, a sort of apology, in response to Buffy's less than happy expression.

"Yes, thank you, Dawn," Buffy continued, fully in speech-mode. "He also has some demon friends, I think. In the thick of the fight, if they're fighting your enemy, they're your friend in this one."

"What if they attack us?" another slayer asked. "Are we just supposed to sit there and take it?"

"Well, make sure they know you're on their side. If they keep going, defend yourself," Buffy said and paused. She glanced down at her hands, unsure of how to continue. "There's another vampire. Bleached hair, this tall. He's also soul-having. Don't touch that one."

She met Xander's shocked eyes. Could she have more terrible timing? Did it make her a coward? Buffy pushed those thoughts aside and continued, but not before shooting him an apologetic glance.

"Any one of you lays a finger on him, tries to hurt him in any way, and I'm the one you'll be dealing with. The wrath of Angel will be the least of your problems," Buffy said. She saw the slayers shift and mutter, but make no comment.

"Everyone understand the plan?" Buffy asked, hands on her hips. A couple of girls before her squirmed, as if contemplating whether it would be wise to ask questions when Head Slayer got that glint in her eye. "Yes? Good. We leave in twenty"

The girls mulled around, gathering their bags and carry-ons up from where they sat. A few passengers eyed them boldly, clearly confused by the crowd of teenage girls sitting cross-legged in the terminal.

"I remember the blond vamp," Buffy heard as she passed one of Sunnydale's original potentials. Most of these girls hadn't been there. They didn't fight in Sunnydale's last apocalypse.

Buffy tried to ignore the babble of whispers that broke out at the slayer's comment and made her way through the crowd to Xander. His back was to her, he just stared out the large airport window at the early evening sky. Buffy came closer and put a hand on his shoulder.

"Xander, I wanted to tell you before, but there was no time," Buffy said softly. "I didn't mean to shock you, I just—I didn't know what to say."

"Oh, no worries, Buff," his voice was too cheerful. He turned to face her. "I'm happy for you, really."

"Xander, you're crying," Buffy said, sick with herself.

Xander laughed, a maniacal giggle. "Am I? Really?"

Buffy wrapped him in a tight hug.

"So what does this mean?" Xander asked, pulling away. "The guy you loved, back from the dead? How long do you think it will take before you two to start with the major pain again? Before everything falls apart?"

"Xander…" Buffy said, hurt by his angry tone.

"I mean it Buff," he continued, raking a hand through his hair. "You know, you care about someone and all you do is hurt them. Isn't that what Spike did to you?"

"Xander," Buffy said again, this time catching his hand in hers. Her voice lowered. "Please, I need you to help me. I need you to be with me on this one."

"Buffy, I don't know. This changes things," Xander said. "It's not like you really need me here."

"I do need you. I need all the help I can get," Buffy explained, voice rising. "The world is coming to an end, Xander. I'm going to go down fighting for something."

"Buffy—"

"But before that happens I'm going to find Spike," Buffy said firmly. "I got a second chance at this and I'm taking it, with or without you."

Xander sucked in a deep breath. "A second chance," he paused and shuddered, wiping at his eyes again. "All right. I'm in."

"That's what I want to hear," Buffy said, slinging an arm around him for another squeeze and steering him back to the girls.

"Although part of it is only because I just spent a few grand on air fare. Flying in from Africa on five minutes' notice ain't cheap, Buffy. Remember that next time there's an apocalypse," Xander said with a genuine smile.

"Ah, of course," Buffy said and grinned. She had missed his jokes.

"Everything good?" Willow asked tentatively when they rejoined the group.

"Stellar," Buffy replied. A shiver of anticipation ran up her spine. They were really doing this, rushing straight into the actual Apocalypse with a militia of slayers to beat back the armies of hell.

"Oh my God," a slayer said.

Buffy turned quickly to see what they were all staring at.

"Breaking news from Los Angeles," the CNN anchor said. "There have been reports of intense earthquake like tremors from the downtown area. Los Angeles is experiencing strange weather phenomenon as well. Reports of extreme thunder and lightning have rocked L.A. There have already been some evacuations in the wake of the earth quakes—"

"No," Buffy said. "It was supposed to be a day or two away…it's too soon."

The slayers all looked to her.

"What do we do?" one asked.

"Buffy?" Willow piped up.

"It started," Buffy said, slightly dazed.

"Buffy, what do we do now?" Willow asked from behind her.

Buffy turned to face them and said simply, "We fight."


	6. Chapter 6

**Disclaimer: **The Buffyverse and all its inhabitants are the property of Joss Whedon and Mutant Enemy. I own nothing, I just play.

* * *

Rain was falling hard now, even out in Long Beach. Buffy, Willow, and forty-two slayers stood huddled outside at the airport's curb, looking for a sign. Buffy was pacing, the others watched her as she made those laps. Back and forth, back and forth, occasionally stopping and glancing both ways down the road or stomping her foot, biting a nail and then continuing. Her nerves were palpable, but no one made a move to touch her or stop her frantic paces. _Good thinking guys, _Buffy thought. She was wound so tightly, ready to snap.

"Look!" Willow said.

Buffy turned toward the source of Willow's excitement. Two tour style buses pulled up slowly to the curb. Buffy felt herself smile as she saw who was driving the first of them.

"Giles!" she called and waved at him. "Over here!"

To Buffy's surprise, Faith stood from the seat behind Giles and leaned over his shoulder, pointing toward the large group of girls. The buses rattled to a shaky stop before them and Buffy was the first at the door, Willow and half the slayers in a tow. A glance back told her that Robin Wood was driving the second bus. Both he and Giles opened the automatic doors and the slayers filed inside.

"Buffy," Giles said, wrapping her in a warm hug.

Buffy hugged him back, but only briefly.

"Is something the matter?" Giles asked. "Where are Dawn and Xander?"

Buffy moved to the side, allowing Willow and the slayers to get onto the bus.

"They're renting a car," Buffy said, tapping her foot in an anxious rhythm as the girls settled in . "Dawn wanted to fight. I said no. Hijinks ensued. You know, the unfun kind where there's much whining to be had on Dawn's end. So we've reached an agreement. She's allowed in but only because the world is going to end and Xander agreed to rent the safest car he could find and drive her in with a stockpile of weapons. They're going to meet us at the rendezvous point."

"Sounds reasonable," Giles began. "But, um, Buffy—"

"Hey, B," Faith piped up. Behind her, Buffy could see the Baby Slayers stuffing duffel bags full of crossbows, stakes, and swords into the overhead bins. _We had better not make any sharp turns, _she thought, a bit nervously.

"Yeah?" Buffy said, distracted. Hopefully the girls on Robin's bus were quicker. They didn't have this kind of time. Buffy wanted to scream, to rip her hair out and curl up on the ground in a crying heap. She couldn't do that. If she did…_If I break down, we'll never make it. We'll all die and I'll never be able to—_

"You okay?" Faith asked, a bit more kindly, the usual harshness gone from her tone. It was just then that Buffy noticed what she held in her hands.

"You brought the scythe?" Buffy asked.

"Yeah, I figured you'd need it," Faith said.

"Hello, retired now. You should keep it, it's only right," Buffy said, but her fingers itched to hold it again.

"Well it looks to me like you're back on the job," Faith said with a smile, holding out the weapon to Buffy.

Her fingers closed around it and a rush of familiarity ran through her. It was perfect. Buffy almost sighed at the sensation of having something so completely _hers. _

"You sure?" Buffy asked, but pulled the scythe to her body possessively.

"Positive," Faith replied. "Besides, I'm not going in."

Buffy's eyes widened in shock. "Faith, don't take this the wrong way or anything, but it's _you_. I mean, you kind of live for this stuff."

Faith laughed and glanced out the back window of the bus over the heads of the slayers, straight into the front seat of the other. Buffy could see Robin shoot Faith a wink, even at that distance.

When Faith spoke, her voice was soft. "You think you've got me figured, B. But, maybe I've got something else to live for."

"Aww, that was almost romantic," Buffy said after a beat, unable to keep the sentimental note out of her voice.

"Hey, don't get used it, blondie," Faith replied. "We're waiting on the outside, me and Robin and Giles. Just in case something breaks through and needs a beat down."

Buffy shot her a smile. "Don't worry, _F_. I'm not going to tell your boyfriend that I almost caught you displaying signs of mushiness."

"He'd never let me live it down," Faith replied with a proud grin.

"Is everyone ready?" Giles asked.

Faith swung casually into the seat behind Giles as Buffy sat stiffly in the one opposite her, next to Willow.

"Floor it," Buffy piped up. Giles shot her a criticizing look from the mirror which Buffy returned. "Please."

He rolled his eyes, and put the bus in drive, the other following right behind.

Buffy could feel her heart pounding, a rhythm brought on by fear and anticipation. There was nothing like it in the world. _Please be okay, _she thought, a silent mantra, _please._

* * *

"Are you sure this is the _safest_ car we could get?" Dawn asked.

Xander kept his eyes on the road. "Considering it was built for the working mom of six rowdy children, I'd say, yeah."

Dawn sighed and leaned back in the passenger seat. The shiny gray minivan was clearly not her vehicle of choice.

"Hey, don't look so glum, Dawn. It's the only car which fit all the safety requirements Buffy listed while she was freaking out about The Apocalypse. That, my friend, is a mean feat," Xander said.

"If I die in this thing, you know I'll have to kill you, right?" Dawn said pointedly.

"Then, I'll have to do my best to spare you the humiliation of being mistaken for a soccer mom postmortem," Xander replied, his eyes locked on the two buses before them.

They were the only vehicles heading toward L.A. while the outbound lanes were jammed. Xander was starting to feel why. Every minute or so, a tremor would shake the ground and it only got worse as they navigated the freeway between Long Beach and Los Angeles. Xander began to worry about the stability of the overpasses up ahead in the wake of the quaking.

"What do you think's going to happen?" Dawn asked him in a small voice, her knees curled to her chest, making the seatbelt look awkward and overly large. It was moments like that when Xander realized just how young she still was.

"I don't know," he answered. "Though considering the circumstances we can put badness on the top of the list."

"I can't tell if I'm afraid or excited," Dawn said. "Does that make me a freak?"

"The freakiest," Xander replied. Dawn punched his arm. "Good God, Dawn. That hurt!"

"Big baby," Dawn replied, but she was smiling.

"That's right, yuck it up. Nice right hook," he commented, rubbing his arm. He didn't miss her smug expression. _At least she's not thinking of imminent death, _Xander mused. "Hey, Dawnie, wanna play a road game?"

"Which one?"

"I'm thinking you look for red cars on our side of the street and I look for blue cars on that one," Xander said.

Dawn raised an eyebrow and gestured to the empty road around them, then to the crowded side.

"Well it was worth a shot," Xander said with a grin.

Dawn shook her head, but her smile was brilliant.

* * *

When they reached the outer limits of L.A., Giles kept driving in. Robin and Xander were right behind them. Buffy could see smoke against the night sky, dampened by the heavy rain that was falling. Lightning crackled and hit the U.S Bank Tower. Buffy swallowed thickly at the sight of it splitting the solid surface. She could feel the ground shaking beneath the bus and tightened her grip on the scythe. The quaking was only getting worse.

"You ready?" she mumbled to Willow.

Willow gave her a small smile. "Are you?"

Buffy nodded.

Giles pulled to a stop just outside of the downtown area.

"Remember," he said, "Faith, Robin and I will be close with the Cleveland slayers and twenty more from England. Willow, do you still have your phone on you?"

Willow held it up. "Present."

"That's our emergency communication. Call us for backup if you need it," Giles reminded them. His eyes turned to Buffy. "Are you ready?"

"Let's kick ass," Buffy whispered and stood. She turned to the other slayers. "Let's go!"

They all stood at once and filed off the bus. Buffy was last, just after Willow.

Giles stopped her with a gentle hand and wrapped his arms around her. "Do be careful."

"I will," Buffy replied.

"I'm so very proud of you," Giles whispered.

Buffy leaned back to look up at him. "This isn't goodbye."

"It might be," Giles said.

Buffy bit her lip and hugged him again before retrieving the scythe. Faith and Giles simply watched her.

"Thank you," she whispered to them both before hopping off the steps. The rain was falling hard, just behind her she could see the minivan that Xander had rented, driving at a slow pace. The passenger window was rolled down and Dawn held a crossbow. The buses turned and went. Buffy kept her eyes on them until the red tail lights disappeared over the horizon.

Xander stopped the van and gestured for Buffy to come to the driver's side.

"We're going ahead downtown," Xander said, squinting his eyes against the sting of rain pouring through his window. "We'll try to find Angel and his team, get them some backup."

"Be careful," Buffy said seriously.

"We will," Xander replied. "I'll take good care of her."

"Bye, Buffy," Dawn said with a small wave.

"I love you guys," Buffy couldn't help but add.

They each granted her a reassuring smile and sped off toward the high rises.

Buffy, Willow, and the rest of the slayers marched through the small residential neighborhood, full of large leafy trees and expensive looking homes painted in soft pastels. They were near Echo Park, she recognized the area. Buffy turned southeast toward the highest skyscrapers. _You can take the girl out of L.A., _she mused.

"Does everyone remember the plan?" she asked over her shoulder and began walking down the deserted street, turning to hop a low fence and traipse through a large home garden.

Affirmative murmurs answered her as slayers loaded crossbows and took practice swings with axes or swords, huddled in a lush bunch of bougainvillea.

"It's quiet," Willow whispered, walking beside Buffy, stalking through the flowering plants.

It was, except for the occasional rumble of thunder. The city seemed deserted. There was no sign of life, just houses with dark windows and offices with tightly locked doors. Everything danced and jumped in flashes of lightning. One of the biggest cities in the world and everyone was gone. A quake rattled the earth and despite expert footing, Buffy stumbled, smearing thick sludgy mud across her jeans.

"Everyone okay?" she asked, righting herself.

"Yeah, we're fine, boss," one of them said.

Buffy could feel the telltale tingle on the back of her neck that screamed "danger". Her heart raced in her chest, blood pumping at a wild rate. She could almost taste the stink of evil in the air, closing in.

"Is the thunder getting louder?" she asked Willow in a low whisper.

"Yeah. It's less thundery and more…"

"Foot-steppy," Buffy finished for her.

"Uh huh," Willow replied with a nervous gulp.

Buffy glanced down and saw her friend's fingertips dance with light, tensed for the battle.

"Buffy, what is that?" a slayer called Hannah asked from behind her.

Buffy's eyes locked onto the point in the distance that had caught the girl's eye.

The thunderous marching of a hundred demon footsteps, moving in perfect time, turned and trampled through the garden of the multistory home next door. They were all different shapes and sizes, many horned, some scaled or lumpy. One left a trail of slick slimy fluid in its wake.

"Quiet," Buffy mouthed to them with a desperate look in her eye.

"They're headed downtown," Buffy said when the demons moved out of earshot. They were now stomping down the street, a hundred strong and heavily armed. _But where are they coming in? We didn't see anything on the way over, _she thought with worry. Behind her, she heard the clang of metal as the slayers raised their weapons, ready to fight.

"Remember the rules," Buffy continued, "kill the hostile demons and _only_ those. Do whatever you can to get downtown, toward Wolfram and Hart. Now go!"

The slayers charged into the unsuspecting crowd with Willow close behind. Buffy only watched for a moment as Willow's eyes were wide, the roots of her hair glowing white as power crackled within her, before throwing herself into the thick of things. The Apocalypse had begun.

* * *

"Let's go to work," Angel had said. And what work it was.

Spike jumped into the fray as the dragon flew down for Angel, who dodged and rolled just as flames shot out of its mouth.

"Careful there, grandpa!" he shouted, snapping the neck of a scaled demon in a fluid motion.

Illyria was to his left, moving like a dancer through the crowd, loping off heads and severing limbs in a wild ballet. Even stripped of most of her powers, she was still incredibly fast. Illyria floored the giant with its misshapen features and massive fists. She spun and killed the nearest demon for its spear, impaling the giant through a vital vein in the neck before moving on. Spike couldn't see Gunn anywhere and the demons were all around.

"Oi, Charlie boy!" he shouted, cupping his hands over his mouth. No answer.

"Damn," Spike swore, grabbing the large axe that the demon he killed had carried. Four more surrounded him, horned and hulking with thick, lumpy hides and protruding lower tusks. He swung it directly into the chest of the nearest demon and smirked when it let out an ear-splitting shriek.

"That's right," Spike said, turning to decapitate the next one in two sharp, hacking motions before it could wrap a thick, chain like weapon around his neck. "Who's next?"

The demons growled. A low feral sound rumbling through their massive chests. Five others approached. All different breeds, all ugly as hell. _Bring it on, you wankers, _Spike thought, _just try and take me down._

* * *

They had an advantage, surprise. Buffy relished the grim satisfaction of the scythe slicing through a demon's neck like a knife into butter before turning and stabbing a second, directly through its large one eye. It screamed and fell, giving her time to decapitate it as well.

"Buffy, over here!"

She threw the scythe to Vi, one of the only Sunnydale slayers present, who tossed her own battle-axe in return. All around Buffy could see them fighting. Her slayers, her girls. They moved in a perfect dance together, all cuts and fists and shouts of surprise or victory. Those demons didn't stand a chance. And though fear and dread gripped Buffy's chest—_Spike—_she could feel it, the familiar rush that came with fighting, the feeling of being so alive that death didn't matter anymore. It wasn't even a blip on the radar.

They had cut a large swath through the demon battalion and kept pushing. It seemed that no matter what, no matter how far they got, more demons came. They had flooded the city, pouring out of every alley mouth, hulking around every street corner. _Under the overpass, _Buffy thought, _and into the heart of the city. _Skyscrapers rose around them as they kept on. Girls fell, girls died, and Buffy kept moving. She leant out, but never lost the chief grip on the scythe, making due with axes, swords, and stakes when she needed to.

Willow was up ahead, a beacon of blinding light guiding them forward. She chanted incantation after incantation. A red demon, scaled with sharp, wicked looking spikes on its spine, screamed as one of her bolts hit it and fell to the ground in a lifeless smoking heap. Its companions screeched and charged Willow before being hit as well.

"Nice one, Will!" Buffy shouted, bisecting a Fyarl demon with the scythe.

"Thanks!" Willow said back, eyes narrowing as she blasted back another red one. "I try!"

* * *

"All right there, Angel?" Spike shouted.

Angel's legs locked around the dragon's neck, his arms raised high, sword in hand. He caught the beast's jaws and clamped them down before cutting through the delicate skin of its under-jaw with the sword in one majestic swoop.

_Bloody stupid hero complex,_ Spike thought, a bit bitterly, slamming into the nearest demon with his stolen axe for the sake of the satisfying crunch of bone and cartilage.

The dragon bucked and sent Angel into the air before it began to fly, smoke billowing from its nostrils as it roared in agony.

"Well that's what you get for being a walking cliché!" Spike yelled. "Angel?"

Angel didn't move. He lay in a solid heap on the ground. The nearest three demons began closing in to his unconscious body, a wild horde, green scaled and slime covered.

"Come on now, Angel," Spike shouted as a Hellhound flew at him, snarling.

"Get up," Spike growled as the Hellhound snapped its jaws in his face and pinned him. "It's time to play hero! You know, that thing you've got a monopoly on?"

He punched the Hellhound hard, sending it reeling. Fists beating solid flesh. _Sod weapons, _Spike thought, now pounding his fists into the Hellhound's every inch. He snapped its neck in one clean motion.

Angel was lying still. The demons were on him now, leering over his broad body. Spike steered himself for it, Angel was as good as dust with both he and Illyria occupied in their own fight. What happened next made Spike freeze, allowing the demon he fought to have the upper hand for a brief moment. He killed it quickly, but continued staring on.

"What the bleeding hell…?"

The green demons were thrown back from Angel's body. It wasn't much, perhaps nothing more than a slight quake, but it had frightened them. They ran away from Angel's stirring form and straight toward Spike. Illyria ran to help, eyes unblinking and face unreadable.

Spike kicked the nearest demon swiftly in the chest, sending it reeling toward Illyria. She planted a foot firmly on its neck and cracked it with a single twist of her ankle.

"We should separate," she said, striding toward Spike. When the demon's twin fighters approached her, closing in, Illyria caught them, one in each hand and smashed their skulls together, leaving them in a twitching heap on the ground.

"I agree," Angel said with a groan, limping over just behind Spike.

"God, warn a bloke before you come creeping up like that," Spike said, jumping when Angel steadied himself with his shoulder. They were momentarily alone, although the sound of a fight still rang around them. That was odd. It sent a strange prickle up the back of his neck.

"Are you injured?" Illyria asked, looking Angel over with that slow, birdlike tilt of her head.

Angel rubbed his head. "A little. What the hell happened? I thought that I felt a…"

"What are you on about, Angel?" Spike asked softly when he caught the look of disbelief in the other vampire's eye.

"Nothing," Angel said quickly. "She's right, we should split up. We can take out more of them that way. They're probably all over the city by now."

"You aren't wrong there," Spike said.

"Illyria, head toward Chinatown, at least fifty came from that direction," Angel instructed. "Spike, keep to these alleyways. There may be more of them hiding here."

"Will do," Spike said and ran to leave, he turned back. "What about you, then?"

Angel's eyes kept flickering to the spot he had fallen. "I'm headed for the parks. If you're both still alive, meet back here in one hour."

Illyria nodded and took off down the street.

Spike rolled his eyes and gave Angel a mocking salute. "Well aye-aye Capitan."

Angel rubbed his brow in frustration. "Just go, Spike."

Spike held in a fit of laughter—_strange time for laughing, The Apocalypse—_but granted Angel a cocky grin and headed down the nearest alley.

* * *

"You three!" Buffy yelled to the nearest slayers. "Stay with me, we're headed for Wolfram and Hart."

Katie, Vi, and Bridget followed her forward. An ear shattering roar rang out followed by the sound of vicious wings beating the air.

"You have got to be kidding me," Buffy said, exasperated. The dragon howled in pain again, thick blood oozing from a gaping wound in the soft flesh of its neck. It coughed out a small, choking flame that the rain smothered in moments. The creature's wings tucked to its sides as it began to fall. "Move!"

Buffy and the slayers ran wildly, arms pumping. The monster banged into the nearest building, sending a wave of broken glass to earth before crashed hard into the ground, timed with an extra hard quake. Buffy pitched forward and rolled, slamming into the hard brick wall of a storage complex.

"Ow," she whimpered.

"Buffy, are you okay?" Katie yelled, scrambling over with Vi and Bridget close behind.

Buffy sat up, disoriented. "I'm fine. Gotta find him…gonna die…"

"She's out of it," Bridget said.

"No," Buffy protested, using the wall behind her to stand. She touched her forehead tentatively and felt the stickiness of blood. It wasn't deep and she defiantly did not have a concussion. _Where are you? _Buffy thought desperately, afraid for a moment that she might cry.

"I'm fine," she insisted again, swallowing the choke of tears and pushing off the wall to prove it. "We just have to keep going."

"But Buffy—" Katie began.

"We need to get to Wolfram and Hart," Buffy insisted.

"Are you sure you aren't hurt?" Bridget asked.

"Because we can find the minivan," Vi added.

"I am _fine,_" Buffy insisted, popping her shoulder back into place, "and we're wasting time."

She held tight to the scythe, allowing its power to flow through her, reassuring and strengthening.

"Let's keep moving."

Buffy ran across the empty street, the three slayers in a tow. A small squadron of demons with gaping mouths of fine sharp teeth charged them, small metal helmets rattling on their egg-shaped skulls. Before she had time to scream, their leader raised his sword and sliced cleanly through Bridget's stomach.

Katie and Vi screamed in grief, not fear, their eyes welling over as the monsters eyed their dead friend hungrily, closing in. Buffy suppressed a surprised cry, but raised the scythe. The demons seemed to sense its power and began scrambling away toward a darkened alleyway.

"Oh my God, Bridget," Katie whimpered, her hands balling into fists.

Vi gave her shoulder a reassuring squeeze.

"They went this way," Buffy said, her voice hollow. _I'm doing it again,_ she thought with a sickening jolt of guilt, _I'm killing them slowly, one by one. All these girls... _

Buffy approached the alley cautiously, scythe gripped firmly in her hands. She was soaked to the bone, her bangs plastered to her forehead and her long sleeved t-shirt sticking to her small frame. Hopelessness began to take over. L.A. was a big city, sure, but she hadn't seen hide or hair of Spike, Angel, or anyone else fighting Hell's army. _He's probably dead. Er. Deader," _Buffy realized. Bleak, desperate thoughts churned in her mind. She could feel herself breaking. _I'm never going to see him again. I blew it. Boom. _

Boom.

The ground beneath them quaked, a violent, earth-shaking tremble. Lightning followed quickly, lighting the alleyway in momentary hellish white fire. It was a moment enough. Buffy froze, Katie bumped into her shoulder.

"Hey, careful," Katie said, rubbing her own shoulder where they'd hit.

Buffy ignored her. Her eyes were locked on the figure at the opposite end of the alleyway.

The figure stared back. Even at this distance, and in the dim light, Buffy could see his mouth open slightly before closing again, his head tilted to the side as he drank her in.

Buffy trembled from more than cold and rain. She could only take a tentative step forward and whisper his name.

"Spike."

* * *

**Author's Note: **Thanks to **Magnusrae**, **ginar369**, **loverswalk89**, **kissmekate1**, and a Guest for reviewing. I love hearing your thoughts and comments, they inspired me to post this chapter a few days early. Another big thanks to all of those who followed this story or made it a favorite. It's greatly appreciated.


	7. Chapter 7

**Disclaimer: **It all belongs to Joss and Mutant Enemy. I own nothing.

* * *

"Up on your right!" Xander said, swerving the car sharply on Spring Street to give Dawn a better angle. He turned wide and almost crashed into a stoplight in the process as the earth gave a low rumble.

"Got it!" Dawn replied and fired, hitting her mark. "Did you see that? Right through his head. Woosh!"

Xander grinned and appraised the damage to the minivan. Thank God it was minimal, one big dent on the side and scrapes all around, but no harm to the engine or any other essential parts. The weapons that had sat in the unzipped duffel bags of the back seat had scattered with every turn he made, trying to out drive the biggest demons and search for Angel's team in the rain.

So far, there was no luck.

"We've been circling Wolfram and Hart for at least an hour," Dawn said, reloading the crossbow. "Maybe we should look somewhere else."

"Buffy said this was the place to be," Xander replied, scanning the shadows. "They've got to be close by."

He kept on driving as Dawn shot down another demon. The remnants of Hell's army lingering beneath the high rises seemed almost wary of the minivan and kept themselves at a safe distance. The fear in their eyes when the headlights roamed over them had Xander hinging on hysteria. Who knew that the stuff of nightmares was afraid of a little domestic manufacturing?

"I don't know, Xan, I mean there's hardly any demons around the building anymore," Dawn observed.

It was true. They weren't retreating. Rather, they were nowhere to be found, fading out into the rain. _What does that mean? We won? _Xander thought. Somehow he knew it couldn't be that simple as another quake rocked the van on its wheels.

"Well, we should probably find Buffy or Willow, maybe pick up some injured slayers," Dawn said and fired again. She let out a small, triumphant, "Yes!" when the stray demon fell.

"You're probably right, maybe we should—Angel!"

"What?"

"He's all big and has that sulky scowl thing going on," Xander said, pointing across the street at the broad figure, walking with a slight limp, his clothing scorched. "Yep, that's defiantly him."

Xander saw Angel's eyes widen with confusion as he pulled up beside him, driving slowly to match the vampire's pace. He rolled down the window.

"Hey, man, long time no see," Xander said, leaning back casually in his seat just to see the look on the vampire's face. It was worth it.

"Xander?" Angel asked. "Dawn?"

He could not have looked more shocked.

"Hi," Dawn said, not looking up from her crossbow.

"What the hell are you two doing here? Do you want to get yourselves killed?" Angel asked, a note of anger creeping into his voice.

"Whoa there. I believe we are in the safety of the toughest minivan money can rent and you're the one in serious danger. I mean really, wandering all majestic through the rain during an apocalypse? Not smart," Xander said.

Angel's mouth dropped open. He recovered and asked, "Does Buffy know you're here?"

"Know? She set this whole thing up," Xander said.

"What?" Angel asked, aghast.

"Yeah, its like slayerpalooza out there and Willow's working some crazy demon killing mojo," Xander said. "You didn't see them?"

"No, I've been a bit preoccupied, as you can imagine," Angel said, pinching the bridge of his nose in obvious frustration. "The earthquakes are getting worse and the demons are—"

"Disappearing, like 'poof'?" Dawn prompted.

"Yes," Angel replied. "Two members of my team have already been killed tonight. I've been trying to find Illyria and Sp—someone else, but no luck."

"Oh, we know all about that," Dawn said simply. "Spike's back from the dead."

"Is there anything you don't know?" Angel asked. "Wait, let me guess. Buffy told you."

"Something like that," Dawn replied, narrowing her eyes at Angel.

The ground shook with the force of another earthquake, making the minivan creak and jangle while Angel struggled to keep his footing.

"Really?" Dawn whined as an arrow whizzed through the air, missing the small demon she was aiming for by at least a foot. "Stupid earthquake, made me miss him."

"This may seem a little out of the blue here, but do you want a ride?" Xander asked.

Angel stared at him for a moment in disbelief.

"Sure," Angel replied, shaking his head. Xander cracked a smile as he heard him mutter, "I'm having a very strange day."

* * *

_Buffy. Here. _Spike's thoughts were a jumbled mess. _Said my name_. His shock was so great that he couldn't even think a coherent sentence, let alone say one aloud. He could only stare at her. She looked a little leaner, a little tougher, and her hair had grown out a bit. Or at least, it seemed as if it had, stuck to her wet shoulders, the ends curling slightly in the rain. _Gorgeous. Bloody beautiful. Slayer. _

Spike told his legs to move, but he couldn't find the strength or the will to get them working. His eyes were locked on hers. She was a vision. Literally, she had to be. Spike was sure. The only alternative was that she was there for Angel, there to save Angel, because she loved Angel. He would rather take a hallucination than face that stark reality. _Then why is she looking at me like that?_ A demon ran behind him—Spike could hear its clunking, thundering footsteps—but he didn't move and the demon did not even pause as it raised its axe. She shouted his name. Buffy was already running, but not before the weapon made contact with his shoulder.

He had been aware enough to dodge most of the blow, but it still struck hard. Spike fell. Buffy seemed barely aware of her actions as she sprinted forward, almost slipping in the rain. She raised the scythe and brought it down swiftly through the demon's thick neck, slicing cord and tendon. The body dropped, dead weight, as its head rolled away.

"Spike," Buffy said, dropping to her knees beside him and gingerly touching the wound. Her hand stained red when she pulled it back.

"Oh, my God," she whispered, touching his face and pulling his head into her lap.

"Buffy? Am I—I'm dust, aren't I?" he asked in a hoarse whisper. He glanced up at her face, so very real and glistening with droplets of rain. "Well what do you know? I guess they sent me to the good place after all."

Buffy shook her head, eyes welling over. "No, you're not dead."

Somehow Spike could tell she was speaking to herself, not him. He could feel the steady flow of his blood trickling down his shoulder, the sharp pain accompanying the wound, and he could hear the steady beat of her heart. He was still in Los Angeles.

"Not at the moment, no," he replied, dazed. The sight of what looked to be a Fyarl demon being cut down by a slayer's sword at the mouth of the alley brought him back to the reality of where they were. "What are you doing here?"

God, her eyes. He'd forgotten how intense they were when she was on the verge of tears and holding them in. She cradled his head on her arm and reached out a trembling hand to touch his cheek, his lips. He could not stop staring at her.

"It's you," she whispered. "It's really—," Buffy paused, finding her voice and quirking an eyebrow, "it is _really_ you, isn't it?"

Spike grinned at the joke in her tone and the abrupt end to her tearfulness. "Yeah, it's me. In the flesh."

"I just wanted to hear you say it," she said and her eyes glazed over again. Her hands trailed over his face, ruffling through his wet hair.

"Not that I'm not enjoying this, love, but…" Spike looked to the battle waging just outside of the alley. The two girls who had arrived with her were now fighting viciously, teaming up against a twelve-foot monstrosity. He couldn't see any other demons, although he was sure there had been more.

"Doesn't matter," she said, shaking her head.

"But, Buffy—"

She quieted him with a finger to his lips. Buffy rested her hand on his face, thumb brushing his cheekbone. "Oh God, I never thought I'd see you again."

Spike reached up to touch her cheek, unconsciously mirroring the movements of her hand. "Don't cry."

Buffy smiled and turned her head to kiss his fingers. The feeling of her lips on his skin sent small shock waves rippling through his body. "I'm happy. This is happy crying."

_Oh God, she's real._

"Buffy," he whispered, catching her fingers in his.

Spike was so dazed by her presence in the midst of the chaos that surrounded them he could barely think. He sighed and began pushing himself up.

"Get down!" Buffy yelled, flattening him to the ground as a demon's spear whizzed past where his head had been a moment before.

One of her slayers caught it. "Buffy, we have to go!" the girl yelled as the ground shook once more.

Spike groaned as Buffy's weight pressed on his shoulder. The wound was bad, but it wouldn't kill him. He needed blood and some time to heal, then he would jump back into the fray, fangs bared, fists flying. But Spike had not prepared to recuperate. He'd thought it would be a suicide mission. He didn't have blood stocked away anywhere, or bandages, or a place to rest. This was going to be his final battle. The one from which he never came back.

"Hey," Buffy whispered, arms braced on either side of his head.

"Hey," Spike replied, his brow knotting. His treacherous hands slid down her waist and settled on her hips despite his better efforts. Her shirt rode high and he found himself touching warm bare skin. He traced the sharp jut of her hipbone with his thumb and felt her pulse quicken, heard her sharp breath. "What are you doing here, Buffy?"

"What do you think?" she replied, her eyes sparkling.

He sighed, she was completely distracted from the world around them. It would get her killed.

"Buffy, we've got to get out of here," he said, trying to sit up. "There were more of them, just that way. We'll be trampled into bits, love."

Buffy stood and held out her hand. Spike grasped it and grimaced in pain as she pulled him up.

"Easy," she said, slinging his arm around her shoulder so that she supported his weight.

He glanced at the hand steadying his chest. The flesh of her palm was puckered slightly and shiny with scar tissue. Spike reached out to catch it. Buffy curled her fingers through his and squeezed.

"Look out!" a slayer yelled, downing the enormous demon in a single stroke of her sword. She threw her arms up and shouted at Buffy. "You're welcome! God Buffy, pick up the scythe, drop the vamp, and help us out."

With that the girl ran, screaming a battle cry. Buffy rolled her eyes and released Spike momentarily to retrieve the fallen scythe.

"Well one thing's for sure, their attitudes still need improving," Spike said, knees buckling a bit as they limped out of the alley. God, that axe had hurt. "Bossy bints."

Buffy laughed and kissed his temple, her lips lingering. He paused to glance at her.

"Don't look at me like that," Buffy said.

"Like what?"

"I don't know, you seem…" she struggled for the right word. Buffy stopped at the mouth of the alley, to lean him up against the wall, trapping his body with hers. "I want you to listen to me."

Spike looked to the sky and back before meeting her eyes. He swallowed, preparing himself for her anger, maybe her fists if she felt like reliving the old days. "Yeah, okay."

Buffy held his face in her hands, her forehead bowed to his. "I am not going anywhere."

Spike closed his eyes, his hands settled on her waist, one splayed across the small of her back. She was close, warmth radiating from her body, making him feel almost alive in the chill of the rain. Before he could stop himself, he angled his face to kiss her, brief and sweet. Her lips were warm and soft and achingly familiar against his, coaxing him to respond. He was trembling and he cursed himself for it, but he couldn't overcome his shock. Buffy smiled against him.

"This is usually the part where I wake up," she mused so softly that Spike was unsure if she had wanted him to hear. She looked up at him and said, "I want to stay here forever."

"Covered in demon blood in the pouring rain?" he asked. "And, hate to break it to you, lamb, but forever's Angel's word. Never much liked it myself."

"Bring me back to earth, why don't you?" she said, lower lip pouted. "And for your information, it was _my_ word first. Angel's the…word stealing guy."

A clap of thunder made them both jump. The ground began to shake, the worst tremor yet. Without a moment's hesitation, Spike grabbed hold of her hand and pulled her from the alley as the windows in the building above shattered, raining down shards of glass. They barely made it out into the street as the tremors increased.

"Where are we going?" Buffy asked, her voice loud over the howl of the wind.

"Another alley, not that far from here. It's a meeting place," Spike shouted back to her as thunder roared.

Her hand was slippery in his, slick with rainwater, but Spike fought to keep his grip. Sure, she was caught up in the glow of seeing her former—_whatever we were_—again, but pretty soon that glow was going to go out. She was going to be angry. Spike wanted to savor it while he could. More than that, he didn't want to lose her in this storm. Whether he died or not was inconsequential. Whatever happened between them, no matter how much she ended up hating him, he would get her out alive.

* * *

Something was wrong. Willow could feel it. The _wrongness_ went deeper than the freak storm and earthquakes, and big terrifying demon armies. It was something else. Something that was breaking into the sacred bounds of nature. Something insidious. Willow's fingers itched at her side to just reach for her phone and call Giles to tell him her suspicions. She fought against the urge to do just that and instead focused on the harsh reality that surrounded her. Theories could wait.

"Where did all the demons go?" a slayer asked from behind her, her eyes darting through the dense shadows beneath the skyscrapers.

"I don't know," Willow replied, her own eyes flickering toward any sign of movement. "But I think we can assume no where good."

Willow had gathered up the remaining slayers she could find from the Downtown area once the demons got it in their heads to avoid the bright, shiny girl with the built in zapper brain and began marching them through the deserted, streets. The healthiest ones carried the wounded. Twenty eight in total, several of them injured terribly, and stood at the base of Wolfram and Hart on Spring Street.

They had fought their way to the meeting place, and brutally too. Now the streets were quiet, empty. The earth still shook and the sky was still churning, but the demons were gone.

"It's like they all said abracadabra and went poof," Willow mused, "Although, that would never happen—"

"But where's Buffy, and Dawn and Xander?" another slayer asked.

Willow felt a twinge of worry in her chest. "I don't know."

Lightning struck hard into the street, fracturing the asphalt. There was something else at work here than just freaky weather. _It feels like…but it can't be. That's not possible, _Willow thought, trying to push those creepy feelings away to no avail. If what was worrying her was anything close to the truth, they needed to get out of Los Angeles and quick. _Apocalypse be damned, _Willow thought.

Headlights bathed them all in dull yellow light. Willow ran forward to the driver's side.

"Xander!"

"You okay, Will?" he asked, looking her over. "You aren't all magicked out are you?"

"I'm fine, how's Dawnie?" she asked, peering around him in the car.

"All in one piece," Dawn said with a smile.

"Good," Willow said, her shoulders relaxing in relief. "I was so worried that you weren't, in one piece I mean. My fears mounted up to multiple pieces and lots of them all over the place. What I mean is— I'm so glad you're okay."

"I know you are," Dawn said with a warm smile, "thanks."

"Hey Willow."

"Angel?" Willow gasped. "What are you doing here? _Fred_?"

The woman in the backseat cocked her head twice appraisingly. "You knew her," she stated in a calm, flat tone.

"Willow, this is Illyria," Angel explained softly. "Fred doesn't, um…"

"Then why does she look like…" Willow began. She focused on the creature in the backseat and concentrated on the small things. The carefully measured motions and the hint of curiosity in her gaze spoke volumes. Willow knew, unquestionably, that she had never met this woman in her life and felt a stab of realization. "Oh. I see…this is Fred's body but…"

Angel nodded gravely.

"Oh."

"We picked her up in Chinatown," Xander muttered to Willow. "Gotta say, she doesn't rate a ten on the normal scale. Actually, she doesn't really _rate_ on the normal scale."

Illyria seemed to hear him, but simply stared on, sitting stiffly straight in the backseat.

"Where's Buffy?" Willow asked, craning her neck to see into the farthest reaches of the car. "Is she waiting in the back?"

"Willow, we don't know where she is," Xander said quietly.

The only sound surrounding them was the growl of the earth as it shook through another tremor. Somewhere in the distance, a car alarm blared from an abandoned vehicle. A sliver of normality peering through the otherworldly mask that had settled on Los Angeles.

"Oh no," Willow whispered after a beat, shaking her head. "Oh _God_ no."

"I'm sure she's all right, Will," Xander said.

"You can't know that," Willow interrupted. "She could be really hurt, she could be _dying_."

"Spike's missing too," Angel said, his voice low and perhaps a tint bitter.

"Angel," Willow said quietly, almost an apology. _What do I say, 'Gee, sorry the love of your life wants someone else? How's that working out for you?_' she thought and ventured a glance at him.

Her search of his face for a hint of jealousy, of passion, turned up empty. It struck her that his mind wasn't on Buffy. After all, he must have lost friends in the fight. _He's all worn out, _Willow thought, _kinda like a big, sad lion. _For the first time in her life she realized how old Angel was, not just in the sense of having had two hundred plus birthdays, but the kind of age that comes with real pain. When she looked into his eyes they were haunted. He had suffered.

"You want in, Will?" Xander asked, startling her from her thoughts. "Plenty of room in the Xandermobile."

"All aboard," Dawn said with a small laugh.

"No," Willow said, shaking her head. "No, some of the girls are hurt. I'm fine and all full of extra vigory energy. They should get the special van privileges."

"I'll walk," Angel said, sliding open the side door.

"I will too," the blue woman, Illyria, said. She followed Angel out and shot the van a bitter glance. "I detest this rattling machine."

Her voice was so grave, so serious, that Willow found herself trying not to laugh. She suppressed the urge and turned to the girls, trying to decide who was the most badly wounded. They could fit eight at the most in the back seat, although some of them would need to take the floor.

"Angel, would you help me?" Willow asked, closing her eyes to concentrate on the task ahead. The warm tingle of _magic_, the sweetest stuff in the world, flowed through her veins, drawing from the earth around them. _Wrong_, Willow's inner voice screamed out, _something is wrong._

"Of course," he replied.

While Willow carefully levitated some of the more badly injured girls, Angel swept them up into his arms and carried them. The ground shook and trembled, the earth roared, and made rough work of the delicate task.

"It seems to me that most of the demons are gone," Willow said, buckling the last girl's seatbelt. "Now, we just need to find Buffy and Spike before—"

The sound of rapid footsteps approaching and a bright flash of lightning made Willow jump.

"Its Katie and Vi," Willow said and ran forward. "Are you guys all right? I thought I found everyone."

"We're fine," Katie said, breathing heavily. "But Buffy's gone."

"What?" Angel asked, stepping past Willow. "What happened to her?"

"You must be Angel," Vi said, tilting her head to stare at him. "He's quite tall, isn't he, Katie?"

Katie rolled her eyes. "Try to focus, Vi."

"Sorry."

"What do you mean Buffy's gone?" Dawn said from behind Willow, getting out of the car and running over, her shoes smacking on the wet sidewalk. "What happened, is she okay?"

"She's with that vampire. The one she was talking about in Long Beach," Katie explained.

"Spike," Vi added.

"Spike," Angel repeated. He rubbed a hand over his furrowed brow, considering the circumstances. "They might be stuck out there, but I'm sure she's all right. He may be a lot of things, but he cares about Buffy. He wouldn't let anything happen to her."

"Wouldn't he?" Xander asked from the van.

"Xander," Dawn said, her voice almost hurt.

"Look, I don't think he would put her in danger intentionally, and my bet's on Buffy if they fight, but since when is Spike the world's greatest thinker?" Xander explained.

Angel chuckled, earning a few disapproving glances. He cleared his throat and looked almost sheepish. "I, um, it was funny," he said apologetically.

"Well whether he is or not isn't really the point," Katie said and sucked a breath in through her teeth. "The quakes are getting worse, the demons are disappearing, and…there are these cracks in the ground."

"Okay we are finding my sister _now,_" Dawn said, marching back to the van. "Start the engine, Xander."

"What I don't understand is why they aren't here yet," Willow mused. "I mean, isn't this the meeting place?"

"Damn it," Angel swore. "I was so caught up in—never mind. I know where they are."

"All right," Xander said excitedly and shifted the van into drive as Angel began walking, Illyria at his side. "Lead the way, broody."

* * *

Spike was trying his best to retrace his footsteps back to the alley behind the old hotel. Left, right, right, left. If he got her killed, he would never forgive himself. Lightning struck a nearby street lamp, splitting it down the middle and leaving a messy, twisted bunch of metal in its wake. Up ahead, Spike could see the hotel roof.

"It's just this way," he turned and told her. Buffy gave his hand a reassuring squeeze. _She's really here, _Spike thought.

They rounded the corner to the alleyway. It was empty. The lights of the city flickered once and went black. All of Los Angeles plunged into darkness. Spike made a small noise of frustration. Everything was dark, muted and blurred, lightning the only source of clear vision.

"Oh balls," Spike cursed. "Angel!" he yelled, "Illyria!"

"Where are they?" Buffy asked, reaching her free hand around him to grasp his arm.

"I don't know," Spike said. "They were supposed to be here by now."

He was beginning to feel the impact of the wound, overwhelming him with momentary dizziness. Though he could already feel his flesh knitting back together, the cut had been deep. How much blood was he losing?

"Hey, you okay?" Buffy asked when he swayed slightly.

"I'm fine," Spike replied, but reached out to touch the blood soaking through his t-shirt, coating his duster, and trickling down his skin. "I just need to…"

_Bollocks_

"Spike!" Buffy caught him before he fell, holding him up as the ground began to shake again.

"It's all right," he insisted, righting himself. "We've got to get to Angel and Illyria."

"No it isn't," she said softly, looking straight at him. _God, does she? Does she really—?_

"You're losing a lot of blood," Buffy said in concern, "If you keep going on like this, you could get seriously hurt."

"I'm not human. It won't kill me," Spike said, distracted and trying to reassure her. "Just a bit of discomfort's all."

"No, it will hurt you," Buffy replied, her expression stony. "I know there's no light, but we'll try to find Willow. She'll know what to do. Or maybe Dawn and Xander, they have a van. You can lie down in the back—"

"You brought _Dawn_ here?" Spike blanched. "And you left her with _Xander_?"

"She wanted to come!"

"Oh, so that makes it all right then?" Spike asked.

"Like I couldn't have done anything! She's the _mayor_ of Stubborn City," Buffy said defensively.

Crackles of lightning burst across the night sky as the ground shook violently. Spike's good arm wrapped instinctively around Buffy as he fell back against the loose brick wall of a building that were slowly coming apart. He pressed her face into his chest, stroking her hair as if it would make reality go away, as if he could make it all better. The harshest shakes of the tremor passed, but Spike could still feel the small aftershocks of it coursing beneath their feet.

"They're not coming," he said, defeated.

He pulled out of Buffy's arms and punched into the brick of the alley wall. Once, twice, as many times as it took to get his knuckles bleeding and it still wasn't enough. He'd failed her. They were stranded in an abandoned, darkened city in the middle of The Apocalypse, the ground beneath them crumbling and cracking with the impact of the quakes. There wasn't anything he could do.

"Spike, stop it!" Buffy said, catching his arm mid swing. "You're going to hurt yourself."

"Does it really matter?" he asked her. "Look around us, Buffy."

Spike saw her shake her head in the half-light. She swallowed and ventured a glance up at the churning sky, the violent bursts of lightning.

Spike caught her wrist and wound his fingers through hers.

"I'm going to get you out of this," Buffy said quietly. He could see the soft curve of her cheek as she spoke, even in the darkness. "You are not going to die here. Not again…"

Something in her voice touched him in ways that he had almost forgotten she could. There was nothing like it. "Buffy, I—"

A beacon of light burned through the darkness and bathed them in its glow. Spike flinched and raised his free hand to his eyes. A horrendous minivan, scraped and dented, creaked into the alley, bumping a dumpster in an extra wide turn.

Angel and Illyria ran forth from behind it, Willow at their tail, followed by what seemed like at least twenty girls, all in their teens. _Slayers,_ Spike realized, _she brought a whole mess of slayers._

"Spike," Angel said. "What happened?"

"What do you mean, what happened? You were supposed to be here, you prat," Spike said. He stepped in front of Buffy unconsciously, as if trying to block her from Angel's view. _I'm not jealous, no sir. No Buffy for Spike. She's not my girl. Then again, she's not his either…_he told himself.

Spike was still holding her hand.

"I know," Angel said, a note of weariness in his voice. "I'm…I'm sorry, all right? I didn't know you two were stuck out here."

Spike leaned back to look at him. "You feeling okay up there? Cause while you're dishing out apologies, I've got a couple I'd like to hear."

"Don't push your luck, Spike," Angel said and turned, striding back toward the van. He paused to gain his footing as the ground, once again, shifted and roared.

The slayers stumbled during the quake. Several of them groaned as they fell against each other. Spike could smell their blood in the air, potent and thick and flowing.

"Angel," Buffy said, stepping forward. Spike bit his lip when her fingers slipped out of his. "Angel, we need a place to go. Somewhere close by, where we can get everyone some medical attention. We can't fight with this many down."

"I've got a place," Angel said, not even bothering to turn as he strode out of the alley. "Follow me."

* * *

**Author's Note: **Yes, Buffy and Spike will still have a lot of issues to work out, but I felt that they deserved a nice reunion. For those of you who had questions about what happened to Angel in chapter 6, to that I say, all in good time.

I just wanted to give a big thanks to **highlander348**, **MoonPrincess623**, **suitablycontrary_,_ **a **Guest**, **Gothic Saku-chan**, **ginar369**, **EllieInLove**, and **Secret Slayer** for the reviews. An extra special thank you to **redsatindoll**. Thank you so much for taking the time to review each chapter and express your thoughts, I adored reading them. I did go back and revise, just slightly, on what occurred with Angel. It turns out there was something missing there, even if it were only a line or so. Thanks again to everyone who made this story a favorite or followed it. I truly appreciate it.


	8. Chapter 8

**Disclaimer: **It all belongs to Joss and Mutant Enemy.

* * *

_Thump, thump_. _Thump, thump. _Buffy concentrated on the sound of her heartbeat, something concrete and reliable, as she followed Angel out of the alley and around the block. It was a nice, constant sound, her heartbeat. Always the same, never in turmoil, a nice constant…

They were headed toward the hotel fronting the alley, that much Buffy could tell. In the total darkness—characterized only by the sudden quakes that rattled the earth—she simply followed the tall, dark shape that was Angel, his back lit by headlights. Her eyes flickered every moment or so to the minivan. _Spike's in there, _she thought, still trying to wrap her mind around it. He hadn't wanted to ride in the van. He had wanted to walk with her. Even if he had not said the words aloud, the death grip of his hand in hers was telling enough. She saw the slight dizziness in the way he moved and the slick sheen of blood that coated his duster. So Buffy had insisted on squeezing him in the back between some very nervous, bleeding slayers whose eyes kept flickering over the vampire in their midst.

She still couldn't wrap her mind around it. _He's here, he's real, he's, well not _alive_, but alive,_ she thought over and over, a swirling pattern of half-lucid thoughts. Seeing Spike there, at the mouth of that alleyway, Buffy had anticipated a lot of feelings, some good and some bad, but overall optimistic. And there had been, spinning within her, a cocktail of emotions. Warmth, love, concern, terror, lust, but she had never expected to feel that angry. So angry that it rose above all the beautiful things that she was feeling. _It just bubbled up in me, like Hulk smash style rage_, she thought.

_How could he hide this from me? _Buffy thought, turning the block and watching the old hotel swell before them, _H__e always told me the truth even when I didn't want to hear it, whether or not I hated him, but this…_

It had sickened her that her very first impulse had been to hit him, send him sprawling and broken against the alley wall and to pound her fists against his flesh until he bruised and bled, to make him hurt the way she was hurting. She had only experienced pain like that once or twice before in her life, pain so sharp that she wanted to force it on someone else just to lift even a tiny piece of the burden. Buffy hadn't hit him in a long time, such a long time, and no matter how much she had wanted to, she was almost positive that she couldn't do it again.

Now she felt guilty for the impulse and stupid for showing up. Embarrassed for invading this new life he obviously had here, especially as she watched his familiarity with Angel and the blue chick with the wiggy eyes.

Still, Buffy knew coming to L.A. had been the right thing to do. _I'm the Slayer, well _a _slayer, and I should be here doing my sacred duty. I should save the world. I'll just be the world-saving person and demon-killing girl that is me. _

Those thoughts, true as they were, didn't take away the sick feeling in the pit of her stomach. As noble and selfless as she tried to make it sound in her mind, the deeper truth was still there. Buffy had come for Spike. It hurt so badly that he hadn't done the same. Almost a whole year he'd had the chance to, and he hadn't.

Then he had looked at her _like that_ in the alley, the way he used to whenever she spoke to him, or walked into a room, or took a breath. It was as if his whole universe converged on a single point, a world of Buffy. That had ebbed her rage slightly. When the demon had cut him down, the anger evaporated. All she could think of was him.

_Maybe it was karmic. See someone you've lost, wish that you could hurt him, see him get hurt. Geez, it's true what they say. Karma's a bitch. Or maybe like a really mean genie, _Buffy thought. She knew, watching him nearly die for the second time, that all she could feel was love.

Xander parked the minivan halfway up the hotel curb as the earth lurched and hopped out, struggling to keep his balance while the quake subsided.

"And I thought my parking was bad," Buffy said, crossing her arms and shaking her head disapprovingly. "I've gotta say, Xand, yours is kinda tragic."

"Well excuse me, Officer Buff. Don't give me a ticket or anything," Xander said as if offended and opened the sliding door.

"That looks like a nasty ouchie there, Buffy," Willow said, gesturing to Buffy's forehead.

"What?"

"You've got a gash," Willow explained.

"Oh, right…" Buffy said, reaching up to touch the cut on her forehead and wincing.

"It's not bad, I should be able to clean it up in no time. I brought some special healing stuff in my purse just in case, so…" Willow trailed off and caught sight of Buffy's face as she watched Angel and Illyria lift the girls out of the van and walk toward the hotel entrance. They looked so weak, bloody and exhausted, reduced from slayers to just simple human girls.

"Do them first," Buffy instructed in a low voice and turned toward the hotel's large front doors.

"The Hyperion Hotel," Willow observed as she appraised the building before them.

Buffy looked it over, the white paint and the trees that she could tell would be bright green and leafy in good light. The hotel looked like something out of an old Hollywood film. Buffy could just imagine a saucy starlet lounging around in sunglasses and scarf, living out the cliché with pills, booze, and baseball players.

"You've been here before?" Buffy asked. "I've never even heard of it."

Willow frowned. "Angel never told you anything?"

"When would he have done that?" Buffy asked, but it sounded like an observance.

"Buffy, are you okay?" Dawn asked, running forward from the car. "I saw you and I saw, yikes, _wow_…and well, I didn't want to intrude on anything and—"

Buffy pulled her close for a warm hug, cutting off her babbling. "I'm fine and you could never intrude. You're untrudy, _outrudy_, the total opposite of in."

Dawn bit her lip, but let out a small laugh. "Okay, I get it. Dawn is welcome in all reunions, both great and small."

"Exactly," Buffy assured her with a final squeeze. Her voice lowered as she watched Spike emerge from the van and touch his injured shoulder with a wince. His eyes were searching for her. She could just _tell._

"He was worried about you, you know," Buffy said quietly.

"Really?" Dawn asked, almost uncomfortable.

"Yeah."

Spike was walking over now and still looked a bit dizzy.

_Thump, thump. Thump, thump. _

"I'm, um, I'm going to go help him," Buffy whispered. "Unless you wanna…?"

"No, ah, no. Things were kind of tense between us before and I don't think I'm ready to…" Dawn trailed off, looking conflicted.

"Go with Willow then, okay?" Buffy said and reached out to touch her sister's hair.

"Okay," Dawn replied softly.

"Dawn, Willow, could you help me out?" Angel asked from the entrance, his arms full of an unconscious slayer, blood blooming through the soft grey cotton of her shirt.

Buffy tried to look calm as she walked over to where Spike stood, his eyes locked on hers. Another tremor hit, and Buffy watched as the building across the street fissured with the impact. She found her footing and continued forth. It was still there, that little bit of anger inside. She pushed it aside. They would talk when they had the time to. This time felt precious.

"How are you?" Buffy asked, her voice hushed and almost reverent.

"All right," he replied. "And you? You aren't hurt, are you, Buffy?"

"No," she replied and shook her head. "I'm fine. Peachy even."

Spike's head cocked to the side as he took her in. He reached up to push her hair from her forehead and his thumb ghosted across the tiny gash there. To her surprise, Spike leaned in and pressed a kiss to the uninjured side of her face, just over her eyebrow. _I have jelly legs, _Buffy thought, leaning into him and absorbing the sensation. _Strawberry jelly, all melty and delicious on toast. That's my legs right now. _It even felt_…yummy__…_that tiny bit of contact after so damn long.

Buffy pulled back and watched as Angel, blue girl, and the unharmed slayers helped the injured inside. They were the only ones left out in the darkness.

"Do you want to go in, or…?" Buffy asked.

"Yeah, in is fine," Spike replied.

Buffy saw his fingers twitch at his side in the half-light, reaching for hers and stopping short. Maybe he didn't want…no, that thought was too painful. She'd come all this way, hadn't she? Buffy sighed and caught the very tips of his fingers with hers, watching his eyes widen in response, in awe of her.

"Come on," she whispered and tugged his hand so that he would follow.

The interior bloomed before her and Buffy suppressed a sigh. Yep, it was Old Hollywood glamour alright, everything from the staircases to the chandeliers, to the décor. Angel had already lit candles. There weren't many, but they cast enough light to not bump into anything while walking through the vast lobby. The vampire in question stood at the foot of a double set of stairs, staring as they walked in.

"Where are the girls?" Buffy asked him.

"Upstairs," Angel replied, walking forward. "Willow's in the office, she said she could put up protective wards. The demons could be regrouping."

"And Dawn?" Buffy asked.

"She's helping with the injured," Angel replied. "Xander's in his room."

"Room? We get rooms?" Buffy asked, wrinkling her brow. "I thought this was a pit stop."

"It's a war zone," Angel replied, "and this is our base."

"How did you find this place? It's incredible. Unexpected, but incredible," Buffy admitted.

"I used to live here," he replied. "It was where I ran my detective agency."

"Way better than those old offices," Buffy complimented. "Really, Angel. I like."

"Thanks, I rented it out while I was running Wolfram and Hart, but I've been thinking that if everything works out okay, I might reopen and—"

"Not that I'm not enjoying this reminiscing about the good old days and fancy digs," Spike interrupted, "but where's Gunn at? Was he hurt or…?"

Angel gave Spike a grave look and cleared his throat. "He's dead. Illyria and I, we found his body back in the alley. He was so far gone when it started. There was nothing we could have done."

Spike nodded and swallowed heavily. Buffy realized with terrible remorse that the first emotion she felt was almost akin to jealousy. Spike had a new life and Buffy couldn't help but fear that Angel, Gunn, and scary blue Illyria knew him better now than she ever did. _A whole year. _The feeling past, and with it came the heavy and reverent grief that accompanied a death in battle, whether you had known the departed or not.

"Oh God," Spike murmured.

"I know," Angel said. "I can barely believe it."

When Spike shook his head, Angel reached out and squeezed his shoulder. It was a motion rooted in shared mourning that made Buffy feel oddly out of place. She leaned into Spike's side, but the motion felt awkward, almost unnatural. She felt as if she were intruding when she glanced at their weighty and grief stricken expressions.

Spike swayed beside her. Buffy moved, quick as lightning, and held him up. She trembled as she felt freshly shed blood coat her fingers and drip down his back. _Not again. I can't take it again._

"It's fine, let me up," Spike said, pushing himself up with her shoulders.

"Its okay," she said, raising up on her toes and kissing his forehead the way he had hers. "I've got you."

Buffy felt an uncomfortable flip in her stomach as Angel turned away from them, his body language revealing more than words ever could.

When he spoke, it surprised her. "I have blood. It's stocked in the basement. I'll get him a bag. Take him upstairs."

Buffy nodded as Angel walked off.

"Thinks he's in bloody charge," Spike said, scoffing.

Buffy quirked an eyebrow. "Isn't he?"

"I dunno. Don't recall voting for him," Spike replied, leaning on her as she helped him up the stairs. "It's sodding tyranny, that's what it is."

"Angel, Evil Emperor of Los Angeles, population: 30," Buffy replied, her voice mockingly gruff.

"Exactly, baby. Read my mind."

* * *

Angel sat down heavily on a storage box holding a bag of blood in his hand, but unwilling to ascend the stairs. _Buffy loves him_, he thought. He knew it. All he had to do was look at her and he could tell. It was written all over her face.

He frowned and felt a rush of loss. Not envy, or even resentment really, but loss, plain and potent. It seemed that all of those things in his life that he had thought would be there forever—_Fred, Wes, Gunn, Lorne, Buffy—_were slipping away, one by one. Angel had never really known how much of his reliance on her had made up who he was. Even when Cordelia was alive—and he had loved her and Connor in ways that he could never begin to describe—he had still relied on Buffy to define him. He had always imagined that they were what was _supposed _to be. He was Angel, the ensouled vampire that the Slayer loved. It was poetic and tragic. It was as simple as black and white. Nevermind that the universe was a vast ocean of grey—and Angel was colored in shades of grey that Buffy had never truly comprehended—with Buffy, he had lived good vs. evil. Moving on from that completely meant growing up. Somehow, miraculously, she had beat him to it.

Now he was just Angel, the vampire with no family, the woman he loved was dead, he would never be able to raise Connor the way he had dreamed of, and his friends were being picked off one by one. Buffy, _the _Slayer, was now one of thousands, and in love with another vampire with a soul, one who had fought for it, for her.

_I'm nothing, I'm worthless, _Angel thought, _I never even wanted this, it's just my burden to bear. I'm not worthy of my soul_. He smirked and chuckled aloud at the pure melodrama of his thoughts, _At least I got to slay a dragon. To bad that just adds to my image. _

The dragon. Angel remembered being bucked off, landing hard, confused and disoriented. It wasn't that he lacked the strength to get up, he lacked the will. For one moment though…

With a sigh, Angel pushed himself up and off the box, tossing the blood and catching it in one hand. Something had protected him, a presence guarding him so fiercely that its feelings washed over him in a warm, contenting wave. He didn't know what it had been, but Angel was sure it was purely good and indescribably beautiful. Maybe the Powers still wanted him as a champion on Earth and interfered at the moment that he had given up his fight. But it had felt like…

Then came that feeling. The touch of gentle fingers trailing across his brow. Even in his delirium, his head pounding with the force of the landing, Angel knew he had felt it before.

"I guess someone up there likes me," he mused aloud. It was no use to dwell upon.

Angel glanced down at the bag in his hand and resisted the urge to tear into it. He would come back for more. No matter how much Spike could irritate him, made him crazy and piss him off like no one else, he didn't want to lose him too. He couldn't take anymore.

Angel grabbed two more bags on impulse, one for himself and an extra for Spike. His eyes surveyed the basement again. Memories flooded him in wave after unforgiving wave, of a simpler time, a more hopeful one. He pushed them aside and faced bleak reality. It was the middle of The End, their army was dwindling, and the enemy was sure to strike again. This was not the time for a crisis of identity.

Angel ascended the stairs, but not before one final glance, one last indulgence into the sweet pain of recollection. He could no longer run away into his past, not into Buffy, not into the Hyperion, not into anything. With another deep, pointless sigh, Angel tore himself away. He was done trying to escape.

* * *

Willow perched cross-legged on the desk of the hotel office, eyes closed, mind abuzz with power. It was still there, that strange, frightening feeling as she drew energy from the earth. She spoke the last word of the incantation and felt the wards settle into place. That would buy them at least a half a day if the demons decided to go mad with the attacking again.

She drew in a deep, fortifying breath. _I should call Giles,_ Willow thought, _give him the heads up that we weren't all squashed in the fight. _

Willow rummaged through her small drawstring purse and found her cell phone.

"Well that's top-notch reception," Willow said to herself as she punched in Giles's number.

_Ring. Ring. Ring. _

"Willow?" Giles said.

That was not the greeting she had been expecting. Giles's voice was rough with tears, strained and broken. Hopeless. The immense shock of it broke through her optimistic mood.

"Giles?" Willow asked.

"Dear Lord," Giles whispered.

"Huh? 'Dear Lord'? Talking to me earns a 'Dear Lord'?" Willow asked, her voice worried. "That's usually reserved for the big things, like hell-gods and giant mayor snakes, not Willow greetings."

"You're alive?" Giles asked as if he could scarcely believe it.

"Of course, Giles. Well, we lost some slayers, but almost everyone made it out," Willow said.

"Oh, thank heavens," Giles breathed out in relief. "Where are you? Faith and I still have the buses, we can come find you and get you somewhere safe."

"Were you guys attacked?" Willow asked. "I knew those demons snuck off somewhere. Is it still going on? We've got to go, we've got to fight them—"

"Willow?" Giles asked again, that note of dread returning to his voice. "Where _exactly _are you?"

"The Hyperion Hotel," Willow explained. "You know, Angel's old place. Those quakes are still going crazy outside."

"Quakes…" Giles's voice was hushed. He cleared his throat. "Willow, ah, are you saying that you're still in Los Angeles?"

"Yeah, smack dab somewhere in the middle part," she answered and ventured to ask, "Where else would we be?"

"Willow, Los Angeles has collapsed. It is completely decimated. There is not a single structure left standing in L.A." Giles explained.

"What?" Willow laughed. "Haha, Giles. Very funny."

She hopped off the table and made her way to the window.

"I mean, if I open this window right now, I'll see…" Willow pulled back the curtain and froze, dropping the phone.

"Willow? Willow are you there?" came the muffled voice of Giles from the floor.

She continued to stare outside as fear gripped her. _Impossible. _

Without tearing her eyes away from the outside world, Willow knelt slowly and retrieved the phone.

"Giles?" she asked, her voice hoarse. "What happened to the sky?"

"The sky? Why, nothing. The sun's just rising," Giles said. She didn't answer. "Willow?"

"It's red," she whispered. "The sky's all red."

"Willow, you must get out of there," Giles said urgently.

"Too late," Willow said in horror. "It's too late. We're gone."

* * *

**Author's Note: **A few of you have asked me if I will be following _Angel: After the Fall. _I will be using some elements of it for this story, but no, I won't be following it.

Big thanks to everyone who read, reviewed, followed, or made a favorite. Please R&R.


	9. Chapter 9

**Disclaimer:** Nothing in the Buffyverse is mine. It all belongs to Joss and Mutant Enemy.

* * *

Taking Spike upstairs was proving to be a more difficult task than Buffy had anticipated. He was leaning on her heavily and his legs buckled once or twice. Not to mention the barely there flicker of three candles in darkness of the hallway was much more difficult to navigate than Buffy had originally thought. Spike didn't seem ashamed of his injury, rather annoyed, almost impatient for it to heal, as Buffy steered him through the hall.

"Careful," Buffy instructed as she maneuvered Spike toward a vacant suite.

After knocking on the first three doors and finding the rooms full, they had reached this one, the first that seemed empty. Buffy felt an almost maternal twinge each time she glanced in and saw the injured slayers, bandaged with torn bed sheets or curtains, lying flat in pure agony, their forms distorted in the candle light.

"Watch the end table," Buffy instructed.

Spike bumped it despite her warning and swore loudly when a vase filled with dried flowers fell off the edge and shattered.

Buffy winced at the loud noise. A door near the end of the hall opened. Xander had peered at Buffy in shock, his mouth opening and shutting once. It seemed in that instant, they had a moment of understanding, if an uncomfortable one. Buffy could almost feel the thought pass between them of, _I know you don't like him, right now I don't even know if _I _like him. But you know that I need him and you understand_. Buffy stood still, staring, after he'd gone.

"You all right?" Spike asked.

"Me, oh yeah. Just reveling in the awkward," she said with a sigh. "Come on, let's go inside."

Buffy leaned Spike up against the door frame of the suite. "Wait here a sec, the sun's coming up soon. I'll make sure the curtains are closed."

Spike did as she said, lingering in the door frame as she checked the heavy plum-colored curtains and pulled them tight. Buffy walked with her hands out, feeling blindly toward the large oak dresser and fumbling inside the top drawers until she found a couple of taper candles.

"Do you have a light?"

"Oh, yeah," Spike said and fished through his pockets for a lighter.

"Thanks," Buffy said, lighting the candles and putting them both in holders on the dresser top. At least now she could see. She turned back to Spike in the doorway. "This should be safe."

Spike stepped inside the room and hesitated before shutting the door behind him. _We're all alone, just us two. Big bed, _Buffy thought, suddenly hyper-aware of her pounding pulse and that single bead of water that clung to her eyelashes from the rain outside.

She swallowed and moved toward him. "Let me help you."

Spike ventured a step further into the room, cautious. "Don't know why you're worrying. It's not like I won't be all one piece again with just a bit of time."

"I know you will," she said, trying to keep her voice optimistic, but it sounded teary. When he wrinkled his brow and opened his mouth to speak, Buffy stopped him with a shaky smile. "Um, here, I can…"

Buffy pushed the duster from Spike's shoulders. The back of it was sticky with quickly drying blood. She folded it neatly in her arms, unsure why she did so, and set it in a plush chair near the window.

"Ahh, easy," Spike said as Buffy settled him down on the bed.

Two loud raps on the door made Buffy alert quickly.

"That's probably Angel," she murmured and turned to open it.

Angel still looked a bit uncomfortable, Buffy noticed with a small stitch of uneasiness. _He knows what I want though, _Buffy thought, _we talked it out._ Somehow she just couldn't seem to imagine Angel giving up on an ideal that easily. The guy thrived on ideals.

"Here," Angel said and held out two bags of blood. "I have more downstairs. It's not heated, but the stove in the kitchen is gas and I have a small backup generator if I can get it working."

"This will be fine," Buffy said, her hands closing around the bags. When her fingers brushed Angel's, she realized with a jolt that there was no desire. That ooey gooey spark that felt like fairy tales, make-believe, and Romeo and Juliet had gone out. It still surprised her a bit that it had, the same way that her lack of passion for him had when they'd kissed in Sunnydale. All she could feel was skin.

"Thank you," she whispered.

"You're welcome," Angel replied.

Buffy tried hard not to read into his conflicted expression as she shut the door and turned back to the other vampire on the bed.

"Blood," Buffy stated, a bit unnecessarily.

"Took him long enough," Spike said. "I'm bloody starving over here."

"Somebody's cranky," Buffy observed and moved to stand before him.

Spike stared up at her and cocked an eyebrow. "You try getting nearly bisected by the Minotaur's uglier cousin and let me know how you're feeling."

"You weren't bisected, you're still in a single piece," Buffy said and set the bags on the comforter beside him. She found her voice in a moment and whispered, "Take off your shirt."

"Buffy," he breathed out and caught her wrists in his hands, thumbs pressed soft circles against her skin.

Buffy felt a surge of glee that she could make his voice sound like that, although it hadn't been her intention. Of course he misunderstood her words, especially paired with her hushed tone and that undeniable craving to touch him. She would have too if she were in his position. Buffy could feel her desire thrumming within her, begging to be satisfied. _All alone, _the irrational part of her mind spoke up. _Quiet, _Buffy scolded herself_._

Spike hadn't done what she had instructed, he was staring at the motion of his hands on her wrists with a deep reverence that had her fascinated. But this wasn't helping him heal quicker.

"I'm just going to clean the cut," she explained.

Buffy knelt before him and slowly slid her hands beneath his t-shirt, pushing it up and over his shoulders. It was a familiar motion, one she had performed countless times, but in a foreign situation. Buffy savored the softness of his skin, stretched taut over muscle and bone, and let her hands glide over the hard planes of his body. She found herself rendered a bit speechless by that look in his eyes, the way his unneeded breathing skipped, and that sort of unconcealed hunger in the way he shuddered at her touch. It made her mind go fuzzy.

"We should bandage that with something," she observed, wincing at the sight of the bare wound.

Spike shook his head as if she were describing the weather. "Vampire, love. It'll be fine, just need blood and time is all."

"I still think you should bandage it," she said, trying and failing to make herself sound relaxed.

"Hey," he said. "Don't go worrying too much on me."

She caught that tone in his voice, he thought she was overreacting.

"Please," she said softly. Buffy sat beside him on the bed and raised a tentative hand to his wet hair, running her fingers through the short strands. Her hand came to rest at the nape of his neck, caressing gently. "Let me take care of you."

Spike swallowed with a bob of his Adam's apple. "Course you can," he answered, his voice rough.

"Thank you," she said and tried to give a convincing smile. In truth she was terrified.

Buffy stood and discarded the damp black cotton t-shirt with the duster, resisting the urge to inhale his scent from the clothing. The wound on his shoulder was a single cut with a jagged, varying depth, most likely due to his last moment dodge. It was not as deep or as thick as it could have been had she not screamed for him, but it was still bad, blunt and messy. Buffy had no doubt in her mind that if he were human it would have killed him.

Buffy caught the way he was eyeing the two bags of blood laying on the comforter.

"Drink them," she instructed. Spike didn't need to be told twice. He promptly tore through the plastic in full vamp face, slurping noisily behind her as she searched for anything that would work as a bandage. So far, she had no luck.

_What about food?_ she thought with growing worry. Yes, Angel had his blood supply, but what would they do for the wounded? After all, Angel had not known she would be there, and with dozens of extra humans while he had only been prepared for one at the most. Her mind returned to the present moment, away from her injured slayers.

Buffy paused before the curtains. No, they would definitely need those if she didn't want to have to sweep him into a dust pan come morning. She returned to the nearly empty dresser, searching until she reached the very last drawer and pulled out some spare sheets. They were soft clean linen and smelled like fabric softener, probably washed by whoever Angel had been renting to. Buffy almost regretted it as she ripped them into strips.

She returned to find Spike almost through with his second bag of blood and cleared her throat.

"These should work," she said. "Hold still, okay."

"Ready when you are, love," he said, setting aside the empty bag and wiping his mouth on the back of his hand.

"Just don't go all squirmy on me," she said, concentrating so hard on the best angle to approach from that she almost missed his low warm laughter. Almost. Buffy grinned at the sound of it. "Hey, no squirminess."

"Do you see me wriggling?" he asked defensively, raising his hands.

"No," she said softly, "you're being good."

Buffy began wrapping the wound, all too aware of his eyes, locked on her, a faint look of disbelief on his face.

"So, what's the what in L.A.?" Buffy asked and glanced up at him. "It must have been pretty exciting and all, considering you never had the time to call me."

She was poking fun, but he looked guilty. _Good_, she thought, but she could not bring herself to feel happy about it. In fact, to be perfectly honest with herself, that shameful look on his face was making her feel a bit sick.

Spike didn't meet her eyes as he spoke. "Well, can't say it's been boring. First I was incorporeal and there was the whole 'haunting' Angel thing," he grinned widely as if remembering a particularly wonderful childhood Christmas, "that was just _jolly_ fun. Oh, I got my body back, got a gig 'helping the helpless', you know, secret protector L.A., singing Angel's old tune. What else, um Angel got all pupetfied, that was a laugh, but then Fred—this girl who worked for Angel, Fred—she ah..."

"I heard about that," Buffy said, pulling the bandage once again, a bit tight.

Too tight. Spike hissed in pain.

"Sorry!" Buffy said and feathered her lips lightly over the bandage, smoothing it down, and repeated, "I'm sorry."

"I'm fine, see," Spike said and touched the wound delicately. "No harm done."

"No, harm _was _done, okay. It was extra done and you _aren't _fine," Buffy said, the stress inside of her boiling over as hysteria creeped into her tone. "I hurt you—"

Spike caught her chin between his fingers and kissed her, muffling her surprised cry. Buffy responded instantly, her mouth rough against his, tongue forcing entrance as her hands rose to cradle his face. This is what kisses were. All heat and desire. How had she sustained herself on anything else?

"I missed you so much," he was able to gasp against her lips when she pulled back and caught her breath, his fingers threading through her hair. "Thought about you all the time, every day, every second…"

Buffy nodded in agreement before capturing his mouth again, throwing one leg over both of his so that she was astride him, closing the remaining space that separated her body from Spike's. _We're moving too fast, _she thought, but another, stronger part of her mind whispered, _Whatever…_

Spike's hands ventured beneath her damp t-shirt. Buffy almost jumped at the sensation of his hands on her skin again, no barriers, stroking softly. Buffy moaned in encouragement, her arms wrapping around his neck and lowering her mouth to press soft kisses along his jaw, lingering on that sweet spot beneath his ear that always made him gasp.

He froze as if he realized what they were doing. Buffy met his eyes with a questioning look. She had never felt so bare. Her hands untangled from around his neck and smoothed down his arms. Spike yelped as she brushed her fingers over the axe wound.

Buffy moved off his lap to sit beside him, her eyes fixed on his pain stricken expression. "Did that hurt? Well, yeah, of course it hurt. Nurse Buffy obviously flunked out of med school."

To her surprise, Spike laughed and raised a hand to touch her face.

Buffy swatted his arm away. "What's funny here? I don't recall any funniness?"

"God, just look at us," he said and ran a hand through his mussed hair.

Buffy cracked a smile. "You sure you don't want to finish that whole wounded soldier scenario thing? Cause I've seen a lot of movies where that one goes down and spoiler alert, the fun part happens next."

Spike shook his head, but smiled at her joking tone. "I figure we need to…"

"Talk?" Buffy prompted.

"Yeah," he replied and moved back to lean on the pillows. He patted the spot next to him.

"You sure?" Buffy asked, sounding doubtful, but she sat beside him on his good side, resting her head on his shoulder. Some small, inane part of her felt that if she weren't touching him he would disappear again, just into the blue. Buffy knew it was irrational, but she needed that physical link.

Spike responded by wrapping an arm around her and kissing the crown of her head. Buffy stirred, trying to turn her face up and catch his mouth with hers. He shook his head and pressed his lips against her hair again, but said blankly. "I slept with someone."

Buffy froze and recoiled a bit from his arms. She could feel from the tension in his body that he was resisting the urge to pull her back against him. "Oh."

"It was nothing serious," he added quickly. Spike's voice lowered and he admitted, "It was Harmony."

A hysterical giggle tore from Buffy's throat. _He could have come back to me, but he stayed in L.A. with Harmony, _she thought. "You—with _Harmony_!"

Spike stared at her in honest confusion as she erupted into laughter.

"I'm sorry," Buffy gasped and pressed her face into his chest, her fist lightly beating against him as she tried to catch her breath. "Harmony!"

"Yeah, yeah, it's a real riot. Laugh it up, Slayer," he said, but rubbed her back as he spoke.

"Shut up," Buffy said and added, "Blondie Bear," breaking into another peal of laughter.

Spike cracked a grin at that one.

Buffy quieted and wiped her eyes, letting out another soft laugh. She sat up so that she could face him and whispered, "Me too."

Buffy suppressed another bout of hysteria when his eyebrows shot up.

"You—with…_Harm_?" Spike said slowly. His face lit up. "Although, now that you mention it, that _is_ a pretty picture."

"God, no," Buffy said, entirely amused by the borderline dreamy look in his eye. "With someone," she cleared her throat, "two someones, actually."

"The Immortal?"

The hurt in his voice did not go unnoticed.

"Big no," Buffy said and raised an eyebrow. "Really, I only went out with him twice—" she froze and asked slowly. "How did you know about that?"

"I…" Spike seemed at a loss for words.

"Angel," Buffy said slowly. "He knew I was in Rome."

"Buffy, I—"

Buffy felt that deep twinge of pain, of anger. "Were you two spying on me or something?" she asked, unable to keep the hurt from creeping into her voice.

"No, nothing like that," Spike said. He froze. "Well yes we did go to Rome, we did see you there."

It hit her. Spike had been so close that he could have spoken to her, but he hadn't. He had been too busy living the good life in Los Angeles.

"I can't believe you," she said in stark realization. "You were there? You were there and you didn't even consider—"

"I did, Buffy," he said.

"Okay, so you _considered_," Buffy said, shrugging her shoulders and trying to keep him from seeing the tears forming in her eyes, "and then what? You just decided that I wasn't what you wanted anymore? You went back to 'helping the hopeless' and Harmony sex?"

"It wasn't like that at all, love. Buffy, don't cry…"

"Please don't touch me," Buffy said softly when he reached for her. Spike dropped his hands in an instant. She met his eyes and could feel total betrayal inside of her. It was cold. "What gives you the right to see me when I couldn't…"

Spike sat there silently.

"How could you do that to me?" Buffy asked, her voice breaking. She stood and paced a few steps. Somehow, standing over him helped. "I cried over you until I didn't think I would ever be able to cry again. Do you have any idea of how lost I was? I would have done _anything_ to escape those nightmares."

Spike cleared his throat. "I never meant to hurt you."

"It's a little late for that, don't you think?" Buffy asked, staring him down.

At least he looked ashamed.

"Oh, and listen up because this part's _really_ great," Buffy said with a harsh laugh. "I get a letter. From _Angel_ of all people. He tells me that you're alive. That you've been alive, Spike."

"I didn't want him to—"

"To what?" Buffy asked, crossing her arms over her chest. "To tell me the truth? Do you hate me that much?"

"Hate you?" Spike asked, looking her over in disbelief. "Why would you think that I…?"

Buffy bit her lip and turned from him as guilt wracked her.

"There's something else, pet, and you just won't open up about it," Spike said, a note of anger in his tone, standing right behind her. "I was wrong, I'll admit it. I'd do just about anything to change it, but like you said, it's too late."

Buffy could feel him behind her, just standing there, waiting for her to turn.

"I can ask myself again and again why I didn't tell you, but I think we both know the answer to that," Spike said.

The silence in the air was heavy between them.

"You were wrong before," Buffy said and turned. Big mistake. He was close to her again, above her, his bare skin gleaming in the candlelight. She felt much smaller. Buffy wrapped her arms tighter around her middle. When she spoke, it was barely more than a whisper, a low, naked confession. "I loved you so much."

Spike blinked in disbelief. After a moment he found his voice. His words were carefully measured, as if afraid of making her cry again. "I knew exactly what you meant."

"Knew? That's a funny way of phrasing it," she said. "Why throw something so completely important to me back in my face?"

"You know I didn't mean it like that," Spike sighed. "You caught me by surprise, pet."

"I understand," she said after a beat, but she didn't sound convinced, she sounded weak and doubtful. She hated it. Buffy cleared her throat. "I still do, you know."

"You still…"

"I love you so much," she finished and pushed past him, hastily wiping her eyes and sitting on the bed. Her knees were shaking.

Spike knelt before her and caught her trembling hands in his. They were still cold from the rain outside and even his cool touch warmed them. He threaded his fingers through hers, turning them over and intently studying the barely noticeable scar on her palm as if he enjoyed the sheen of it in candlelight. He smirked and chuckled warmly.

"I did call, you know," he said and looked up to meet her eyes.

"You did?" Buffy asked, scarcely comprehending it. _Big confessions take a lot out of me,_ she mused. "I never…when?"

"Oh, um, well yesterday," Spike said swiftly. "Point is I called, yeah?"

Buffy laughed and shook her head. She leaned down to rest her forehead against his, reveling in the moment. So familiar. His lips brushed her eyelashes, her temples, her mouth. Buffy knew that if she had allowed him in prior to those last few nights before the Hellmouth, every day would have been like this.

A soft knock at the door startled them from the comfortable silence.

"We should probably answer that," Buffy whispered.

"You're probably right," Spike said and pulled back.

The knocking became incessant, louder and louder.

Buffy rolled her eyes and stood, walking past him to the door.

"Willow?" she asked when she opened it. "Oh, God. What happened? You look…"

Willow shook her head. Her face was milky white, even in the dim light of the candles, and her eyes were wide and glassy. When she spoke, her voice was low and far too calm. "Buffy, would you come downstairs please?"

"What is it, Will? What's wrong?" Buffy asked urgently. "Is it the demons, did they come back?"

"No, it's not the demons," Willow said in that same grave, collected voice. "Please come downstairs."

Buffy glanced back at Spike, still shirtless and now sitting on the bed, watching them with some interest.

"Tell him to get dressed. He should be there," Willow explained. "Angel and I…we need to tell you guys something."

"Is it bad?" Buffy asked.

Willow couldn't quite meet her eyes. "It isn't good. Please, Buffy."

Buffy reached out and lightly squeezed Willow's shoulder. "Okay, we'll be down in a minute."

Willow nodded and turned away.

"What was all that about?" Spike asked and walked to the chair for his shirt and duster.

"I don't know," Buffy said and watched him dress, momentarily losing focus. _Greatest distraction ever, _Buffy thought happily. Her mind flickered back to that haunted look in Willow's eyes. "But she sounded serious."

Spike pulled on his duster. "Why do I get the feeling that this won't end well?"

Buffy sighed, dread filling the pit of her stomach. "Because it never does."

* * *

**Author's Note: **Thanks so much for the favorites, follows, and to **Gothic Saku-chan, Naomi, **and **HTSWasRubbish, Magnusrae,** and **ginar369**for the reviews, they were a joy to read.** Magnusrae: **I'm so glad you liked the introspection of Buffy and Angel. For some reason, its just incredibly fun to get into their heads considering how little those two will say out loud. **ginar369: **I agree that Angel really didn't think this one through considering the power of the Senior Partners. That does leave him pretty culpable for their current situation.


	10. Chapter 10

**Disclaimer: **It all belongs to Joss and Mutant Enemy. Nothing in the Buffyverse belongs to me.

* * *

Willow stood upon the steps at the base of the Hyperion lobby's double stairs looking down at her friends gathered there, Angel at her side. The slayers still looked exhausted, moving sluggishly with quiet noises which betrayed their fatigue as they found places on the floor to await her announcement. Willow's eyes flickered around the lobby to the windows covered with curtains or boards, hiding the truth of the world outside. Still, that soft red light, which looked deceptively like early sunrise, filtered through almost mockingly.

Everyone, except the most gravely wounded, either sat or stood around the staircase, waiting patiently to hear what they had all been dragged out of bed for, talking sedately about the battle. They had no idea what was coming. Willow didn't know what they were expecting to hear, but knew that it was nothing even close to the truth. _This is going to terrify them, _she thought, _this is terrifying me, especially after fighting all those oogely boogelies._

Dawn was curled in a plush modern chair near a fake plant, talking with Veronica, her eyes flickering to Willow with a mix of hopefulness and trepidation. Of trust. That look was the hardest to stomach. Illyria stood with her arms crossed behind the gathering crowd, her wide eyes fixing upon and studying different points around the room while Xander hovered at the side. His gaze was downcast, occasionally flickering over to where Buffy stood with Spike, her arms crossed, speaking quietly, no emotion betrayed on her face. Angel was glowering at Willow's side, an expression that somehow managed to be unreadable. That brought her back to their current situation. Their awful, terrifying situation.

Willow sucked in a breath and found her voice. "Excuse me. Hey, everybody."

They all looked to her, the noise quieting. Angel gave her a sideways glance of encouragement.

"I, um, I don't really know how to say this but, uh, here goes," Willow began, taking in a deep breath and twiddling her thumbs. "We aren't exactly in Los Angeles anymore."

"The man with the eyepatch asks, huh?" Xander interjected.

Buffy spoke up when she caught Willow's conflicted expression. "I think Xander's asking, what do you mean? It does seem pretty clear that we're in L.A. This hotel is a part of it."

"Yes, it is," Willow began, "…and no. I mean we are, but we aren't…we moved, jumped kind of…ah…help me out here, Angel."

"Willow's been talking with Mr. Giles," Angel said. "Los Angeles, the real Los Angeles, in its entirety is here and all the destruction that the demons did during the fight was left behind. Just piles of rubble. But if you look out the window, you'll see the city."

"Then where are we?" Buffy asked, stepping forward. "Willow, are we in a hell dimension?"

A ripple of murmurs ran through the crowd. Willow could almost feel the slayers' fears painting the air.

"Not exactly," Willow replied and fished through her purse for her cell phone. "I've called Giles twice now—this place has weirdly great reception—and, well, our timelines are completely in sync. Most alternate dimensions wouldn't be so tightly knit."

"So Giles explained to Willow where he thinks we are," Angel added.

"And where is that, exactly?" Buffy asked, her voice rising. "I've already lost fourteen girls and now I've got nine out of commission. They're going to need to get to a hospital and I'm pretty sure they don't have those in _hell_."

"I know, Buffy," Angel said. "But we have to find a way out of here before we can do anything else."

Buffy looked livid, Willow noted with a frown, her eyes were wide and desperate. She was probably scared. Willow cleared her throat. "Like I said, I've been talking to Giles. He believes that this dimension is artificial, a sort of next phase in The Apocalypse."

"How can he know that?" Xander asked. "If you ask me, it looks like punishment for fighting them. Maybe those scary demon lawyers sucked us in here as revenge."

Willow shook her head. "Honestly, Xander. I think I might prefer that," she admitted, earning another wave of frantic whispers. "If Giles and I are right, they probably don't even know we're here."

"Willow, what the hell is going on?" Buffy asked. Spike caught her hand in his. Her knuckles were white where she clutched him.

"We think that this dimension was created as a bridge. So it's kind of a place in between dimensions, if that makes sense. When Los Angeles was sucked in, we were too. When the demons disappeared during the battle, it wasn't into our world. It was into theirs. The place on the other side of the bridge where the Senior Partners live," Willow explained. "See, the bridge goes both ways with Los Angeles in the middle. On one end, you have our reality and on the other—"

"The Senior Partners are waiting to cross through in their true forms along with the city and finish The Apocalypse, ending their banishment from our dimension and their Home Office," Angel said bitterly.

"How—how do we get out?" Dawn asked, curling up tighter in her chair.

Willow tried to smile, but knew it looked more like a grimace at best. "I'm working on it. I think I can open a window in the dimensional fabric as a way to escape. Giles is helping too. Well, he will be as long as my battery holds out."

"Once we get out, Willow's going to try to seal it," Angel said. "That way, the Senior Partners can't come through and make Earth their new permanent residence."

"So, what now?" a slayer asked from the floor. "Do we just wait or…?"

"Wait to die in here?" another piped up. "I don't think so."

Their voices mingled, laced with fear and quickly rising. Willow watched Buffy give Spike's hand a final squeeze and move to sit beside her sister. Dawn's eyes were rapidly filling amid the chaotic noise. Dawn pressed her face into Buffy's shoulder and let out something like a sob. Xander seemed to draw into himself, his eyes focused on the floor as he backed further away from the arguing slayers.

"Hey," Willow said. The din only increased, one girl sobbed quietly. "Hey!"

Angel raised his eyebrows at Willow as the room fell silent.

"We will _wait_," Willow said with a note of finality. "I promise I'm getting you out of here."

The girls quieted slowly. They began to stand and shuffle around the lobby or head for the stairs. Directionless.

Willow turned to Angel. "Do you have any texts on dimensions here? Anything that could help with a spell?"

"Yeah," Angel responded, his voice low. "Wesley kept some books in the office. I hid them from the renters. I can get them for you."

"Thanks," Willow said in relief. A new fear arose. "Angel, we could be here a while. Do you have any, you know, food or possibly clothing?"

Angel nodded. "Yeah, the kitchen's pretty big and there may be some clothes in the rooms. I haven't taken any inventory, but there should be food stocked up at least…"

"It's okay. I've got a person for that job," Willow said. She walked down the steps to where Buffy sat with Dawn, making soft shushing noises and combing through her sister's hair. "Hey, Dawnie."

"Hey," Dawn said weakly, not looking up.

Willow smiled. "I was wondering if you wanted to check out the kitchen? You could see what kind of food Angel has in case the girls are getting hungry tummy rumblies."

Dawn sniffed and raised her head. Her eyes were red with unshed tears. "Can I cook?"

"Yeah," Willow said encouragingly. "Yeah, of course. I think the stove is gas, but—"

"I know how to work it," Dawn said, standing so quickly that Buffy had to duck. "Just point me in the right direction."

"Oh, yeah, it's right—" Willow barely raised her hand and Dawn was moving.

"Thanks, Willow," Dawn said and ran off toward the kitchen.

"Willow," Buffy said slowly with a smile.

"Dawnie loves cooking," Willow explained.

"Yes, she does," Buffy agreed and stood. "She also tends to do crazy food experiments to rival the tastes of an Iron Chef from hell."

"Well, it's a good thing we're in hell then. Maybe our taste buds have become all acclimated," Willow said and grinned.

"Thank you."

"She looked scared," Willow said.

"She is," Buffy replied. "But we're going to have to deal. I mean, there's only one way out of this, isn't there?"

"Yep, if I can make with reality bending, we're home free," Willow explained.

Buffy nodded. Her face was so calm, mask-like and unreadable. Willow felt a twinge of sympathy, remembering the openness and optimism Buffy had once had. An innocence that was lost forever. Buffy pulled Willow into a hug. "I know you can do this," she whispered and squeezed. "I mean, you're _Willow_. You can do anything."

"I can only hope," Willow admitted.

* * *

The light seeping in from outside was wrong. Buffy didn't know how she hadn't seen it before. It was red, blood-red. _Hell red, _she thought,_ fire and brimstoney_. Now, walking through the darkened archways of the hotel's upstairs hall in ceaseless laps, Spike at her side, each covered window they passed felt like an omen.

"So, bridge dimension. Our dimension, a hell dimension, and we're stuck in the middle," Buffy mused, "that's one I haven't heard before."

She sighed and stopped walking, turning to Spike. "This is a complete disaster."

"Tay Bridge was a disaster, love, and I'm talking about the poem," Spike replied. He caught sight of Buffy's expression. "What I'm saying is, we're going to get through this."

Buffy shook her head, rubbing her arms as if to warm herself. "I don't know. I just don't know how we're going to get out of this one. Everything just keeps getting harder. Right when I think I've won, it's like there's this clause in my life that says I can't be happy. There's always a price."

"Well, Red's good with magic, best of the best, she'll come through in time," Spike said. "Always does."

"I know she will," Buffy said. Her voice sounded hoarse and tired. She leaned against the arched hallway wall and tried to smile. "Maybe if I expect things to be better, they will be. That's a thing, right? I could try out a happy-go-lucky mantra. I could be Optimist Buffy. She of the smiles and sunflowers where nothing ever, _ever_ goes wrong."

"Figure you'd be kinda bored in a place like that, pet," Spike said. "After all, aren't people who live in that world the ho-hum, day job, shag twice a month, lemons into lemonade types?"

"Oh, come on. You can join in my new Club of Boring. It has fun potential despite the name," Buffy said. She walked forward and rested her hands on his chest, tilting her head to look at him. _I'm touching him, _she thought, still slightly mystified as she studied her hands, pressed flat against his body, _I'm really touching him._

"We could be really boring, picket fence people," she continued softly, tracing small circles against the material of his t-shirt, her eyes glued to the motion of her fingers. "You know, the kind that clip coupons, and live in cookie cutter houses, and keep up with the Joneses no matter the price."

"And just so happen to kill demons in their spare time," Spike finished dryly.

Buffy sighed and pulled back, resuming the pointless pacing they had been doing before. _All throughout these hallways, but not where I want to be, _Buffy thought, her mind drawn to the idea of going back in that candlelit bedroom just one hall away. It made her pulse race wildly beneath her skin, thrumming so loudly she was sure he could hear. "I know. Boring club sounds really…boring."

Spike exhaled along with her. Funny how he did that, so perfectly timed.

"Buffy?"

"Hmm?"

Spike's eyes flickered from her face to the covered windows. "Are you afraid?"

"Maybe," Buffy explained quietly. "Maybe not. I don't really know what to feel."

"I know the feeling," Spike replied quietly.

"It's just lucky Angel has those books," Buffy said, "and the hotel. He really came through, you know what I mean? This place came in handy."

"Mmhm, very handy," Spike murmured.

"I just hope that Angel's up to this on top of everything else that he's doing. The whole, helping Willow get us out thing can't be easy," Buffy continued. "Can you imagine if—hey? What's up with you?"

Spike pursed his lips, shook his head, his eyes downcast as she spoke. He chuckled, a sound devoid of mirth. "Oh, it's nothing."

_Oh my God, is he…_Buffy stopped walking and quirked an eyebrow. "Are you _jealous_?"

Spike scoffed as if offended. "Me, jealous? Please, of course not."

"Uh huh." Buffy folded her arms over her chest. "So if I mention that Angel's been a really strong leader through this and might deserve a little recognition, you would say…?"

"That he isn't my leader and he can piss off," Spike muttered.

Buffy groaned and began walking again. "Spike…"

He ran a little to keep up with her. "What is it? What'd I say?"

"Just, don't. All right?"

"What'd I do?"

"You're so…" Buffy searched for the right word and came up blank. "Ugh, you just take the littlest thing and run with it. No, you sprint. You get _sprinty_."

"How's that?" he asked, his eyes flashing.

"All I did was say his name amid some quasi-positive comments," she replied.

Spike sniffed. "Sometimes that's all it takes."

_You have got to be kidding me, _Buffy thought. Realization dawned on her. Her mouth dropped open a fraction. "You think I'm still in love with him, don't you?"

"What?" Spike said with a false laugh. "You're off your bird here, Slayer."

"No, I think I'm kind of on my bird right now," she replied. "You think that because we're stuck in Hellsville I won't be able to resist the charms of Angel in close contact."

"You won't. You've never been able to and I know why," Spike said pointedly. "Andrew said it in Rome. Angel's said it here. Mystical _forever_ love or what have you."

"What the hell are you talking about?" Buffy asked, her voice harsher than she would have liked. That did it for him. Buffy cursed herself as his eyes darkened and his nostrils flared.

"The biggest clues have come from you, you know," Spike stated.

"Oh, _I_ said I wanted a big ole helping of Angel cake?" Buffy said, her voice scathing. "When did I do that? Was it when I almost died trying to get to you out there, when I was saving you, or caring for you in here with _everything _I have? Cause, if so, I'm sorry but I must have missed it."

"Sunnydale."

That one threw her for a loop. "Excuse me?" Buffy asked, frowning.

"In Sunnydale. You and Angel. Do the sodding math," Spike replied.

Buffy gaped. _Stupid Spike, made me speechless. _"I thought we were past that," she said when she found her voice. "I told you it didn't mean what you thought it did."

"See, there's where I think you're lying," Spike replied. "I think it meant_ exactly _what I thought it did. You still want him."

Buffy was hurt by his pointed tone. "_Then_ I might have, yes. But now…Spike, you have to understand what happened to me when—"

"You know what," he said, sneering. "Save it."

Then he was walking back down the hall the way they'd came. _Come on legs, walk. Follow him. Don't let him…_

He was gone, slamming the door to a suite so hard that a useless light fixture overhead shook. Even at a distance, she heard the lock click into place. Buffy raised a shaking hand to her mouth and found herself with her back to the hallway wall, sliding to the floor.

Then she was crying.

* * *

"Where are you?" Angel said aloud, filtering through the contents of the hidden desk drawer in the office, shoveling through scribbled notes and dusty tomes. He pulled out a hand copied transcription of the Shanshu prophecy, in Wesley's writing and caught himself staring at it blankly. Two things that he had lost amid hundreds. Wesley, dead, Gunn, dead, Lorne, gone and his prophecy signed away all in succession. The reality of it had still not fully sunk in. It just left him feeling numb and tired. So tired. Angel let out a shaky sigh and found the book he was looking for. He leaned back in his desk chair. If he closed his eyes he could almost imagine Cordelia sitting at the reception desk. Angel frowned as he remembered—well, not _happier_ times—but times when things had seemed so much more optimistic.

Angel's attention returned to the book. He blew a layer of dust off the cover, revealing the Ancient Sanskrit title, and whispered, "How did I end up here?"

"If that wasn't rhetorical then you're asking the wrong person."

"Xander," Angel acknowledged. That was unexpected. "Uh, come in."

"Thanks," Xander replied from the doorway, moving to sit in the chair opposite of the desk. "Was this your office? Back when you were big detective man?"

"Yeah, this was mine," Angel confirmed. He looked over the man sitting in front of him. The loud shirt and jokes were the same as he remembered from his time in Sunnydale. Everything else had changed. There was a hardened look in Xander's eye, something buried beneath the surface. Eye. Angel frowned. "Why are you wearing the, uh…?"

"Oh, this?" Xander gestured to his eyepatch and shrugged. "Heard they were the latest in Apocalyptic fashion. Seeing as I got my eye popped out by a crazy woman-hating priest, I figure must I look pretty stylish."

"Ah."

There was a moment of silence. An awkward beat.

"So, um…how are things?" Angel said and cringed. What was Xander even doing here?

"Thingish," Xander replied as if distracted.

"You look tan," Angel observed.

"Took a little vacation."

"Oh, yeah? Where to?" Angel asked.

"Africa," Xander replied.

"Anywhere special?"

"Many places that I am completely_ incapable _of pronouncing," Xander explained.

"So did you find it?" Angel asked before he could help himself.

Xander froze. "Find what?"

"Whatever it is you were looking for," Angel observed.

"Wow," Xander said and shook his head in surprise. "Insightful much?"

"Can't really afford not to be," Angel answered. "Honestly, what are you doing here, Xander? If my memory serves correct, we aren't really the best of friends here."

"The truth?"

Angel nodded.

"Well, Willow's busy with the magic stuff. I could help the Dawnster out with food, but she'd bite my head off before I could say 'more pepper', the slayers are all freaking about this interdimensional badness, so that's a no go, or I could go watch Buffy make kissy face with Spike, whose guts I hate," Xander explained at peered at the book across the desk. "None of those are very good options. I figured I'd rather be here while you look at the interdimensional book thingies."

"I'm honored to be your last resort for social contact," Angel said, thumbing through the book. He paused. "You hate my guts too, you know."

"Okay, true. But you rank a little lower on my hate scale than Bleach Boy in there," Xander explained. "Don't worry though, its probably just because I haven't actually spoken to you in years."

"Does it bother you?" Angel asked, ignoring the comment. "Seeing her with him?"

Xander laughed. "God, no! I don't—you do know I got over Buffy _years_ ago, right?"

"It's not like I've been in the loop," Angel replied. "Wait, no? W-why no, then?"

"Have you seen her?" Xander asked with a chuckle, his face softening. "She's _happy_."

Angel still did not quite understand.

"I haven't seen Buffy look_ happy_ in a while now," Xander explained. "Sure Spike might be a pain in the ass, but—"

"He makes her happy," Angel finished quietly.

"Yeah," Xander said. This silence was comfortable, contemplative. "I didn't, so you know."

"You didn't what?" Angel asked, frowning.

"I didn't find what it was I was looking for," Xander admitted quietly, his eyes fixed on the book in Angel's hands.

"What was it?"

Xander opened his mouth to speak when a loud scream rang through the air.

"Dawn," they said simultaneously and jumped up, racing through the lobby toward the kitchen.

"Little bit!" Spike's voice rang out as he ran down the stairs.

"Dawn!" came Buffy's shout just seconds later.

They almost barreled into each other as they squeezed down the short hall. Angel found himself being shoved aside by Buffy as she ran toward the source of her sister's scream.

"Dawnie, honey?" Buffy called as they entered the large hotel kitchen. Her eyes surveyed the room, searching the shiny counters and wooden cabinets for a glimpse of her sister. Dawn looked faint and leaned heavily on a marble counter. Buffy relaxed at the sight of her, then froze. Spike banged into her after her sudden stop.

"Sorry," he muttered, then caught sight of the figure standing beside a pile of spilled canned soup. "What the buggering hell?"

"Oh my God," Buffy whispered.

Dawn backed away from the counter and ran to her sister. "Buffy, she just appeared out of nothing."

"How is that possible?" Buffy asked Angel.

He didn't answer. He could only stare. _It's n__ot true, it's not possible_, were his only thoughts.

The woman before them raised a hand in awkward greeting. "Hey there," she said softly. She was looking at him. Only him.

_Cordy._


	11. Chapter 11

**Disclaimer: **Everything in the Buffyverse is the property of Joss and Mutant Enemy. I am simply having fun.

* * *

"Hey, It's Cordelia. Look everybody, Cordy's here," Xander said, grinning. "And might I say, looking good."

"Xander, Cordelia's dead," Buffy said in quiet confusion.

Angel had frozen so completely his breathing stopped.

Cordelia was standing before him, looking exactly as she had after waking up, or not waking up. She looked exactly like _that_ day. Her last day. _The Partners, they're punishing me, _was all he could even begin to imagine. Before rational thought could kick in, Angel's hand was at the imposter's throat, holding her down on the marble countertop.

"Angel. What are you—?" she choked out, her fingers clawing at his wrist as he tightened his grip.

"How dare you wear that face?" he growled. "Mock me like that?"

"Angel!" Buffy shouted and ran forward to pry his arm away. Angel shoved her back with a snarl, vamping before he could help himself. Buffy stared at him as if she had never seen him before.

"You're killing her," Buffy whispered in horror.

"She's already dead!" Angel shot back, his eyes locked on the—_apparition, figment, demon—_thing he would not dare to name.

The imposter Cordelia struggled, her nails biting his skin. "Angel…" she said in a hoarse whisper.

Angel grunted and found himself flying away from the imposter's body, Spike on his back. He fell to the ground and the other vampire took the opportunity to pin him as he struggled.

Angel hissed when Spike's fist came in contact with his nose. Something cracked and Angel felt a small trickle of blood dribble down his face. "What the hell are you doing?"

"What the hell are _you _doing?" Spike retorted.

"Why'd you hit me?"

"Why'd you choke her?"

"Both of you, shut your mouths," Buffy snapped.

"Excuse me," the woman said, rubbing her throat where Angel had grabbed her. "I can prove that I'm, well _me_, if you were interested."

"I'm interested," Buffy said, crossing her arms. "You popping up mystically in the middle of this hell place where all we've seen is demons doesn't really make me want to trust you. No offense."

Spike snuck in another punch and Angel shouted in pain.

"Spike, what is _wrong_ with you?" Angel yelled.

"Hey! Do I have to separate you two? And what did I say about shutting up?" Buffy said and turned back to…_whoever she is…_Angel thought as Spike scampered away from him, his eyes shooting daggers. "Now, let's just back up. Start from the beginning—"

"Buffy!" Willow shouted, running into the room. "Is everything all right? I heard Dawn scream."

"Everything is fine," Buffy said carefully.

"Except for the part where we're trying to figure out if I'm a demon, yeah, everything's just peachy keen," the woman said. That look. That irritated, what-the-hell-are-you-talking-about and why-do-I-care look. It was Cordy through and through. _Could it really be_?

_Oh God, did I hurt her?_ Angel thought and stared down at his hands in horror.

"Cordelia," Buffy addressed the woman.

"Hold on a minute," Xander said, raising his hands. "I thought you said she was dead."

Buffy opened her mouth a fraction in confusion, "Only because Angel said she was."

"Are you…?" Willow asked, looking at Cordelia.

"Kind of, maybe? I'm not really sure about the technicalities," Cordelia said and turned to Angel. "Can I talk with you? _Alone_?"

Angel could only nod mutely.

"Come on," she said, rubbing her throat again.

Angel walked close behind her from the kitchen, back towards his office. He could feel every pair of eyes locked on them as they disappeared down the ornate arched hall. The scent of her swirled around him in a dizzying rush and he found himself breathing again by the time they reached the dim lobby. It was exactly as he remembered. Angel inhaled deeply and stopped her with a gentle touch on her shoulder. She flinched.

"I'm sorry," he said quietly. He looked her over. "Did I hurt you?"

"Maybe a little," she replied, the corners of her mouth twitched, but her eyes were sad. "In more ways than one."

Angel ushered her into the office, pausing until he was sure they weren't still being watched. The last thing he wanted was an audience for this.

"Look, I'm having a really bad week, so prove it," Angel said. His voice was thick with desperation. "Please, prove that you're…"

She sighed and rolled her eyes, but she was smiling at him. "My name is Cordelia Chase. I was born on February 3rd, 1981 in Sunnydale, California. I pretty much _was _that cheerleader bitch from every teen movie like _ever_," her voice softened and slowed, "But then I came here and everything changed. I found friends and I got better. Someone very special gave me visions so I could help save people who needed me, and I fell in love with this incredible guy," she paused, her eyes locked on his face, which was rapidly filling with shame. "Well, that's pretty much all about me, let's move on to you."

"Cordy," Angel said softly.

"I still want to get this out. Finish the ID check. You have a son named Connor," she began and smiled. "He looks like you. Great hair."

Angel could only stare with what he was sure was a ridiculous smile plastered on his face.

"Um, let's see," she continued. "You're a champion of the Powers That Be. You love Barry Manilow. Sometimes, when you think no one's listening, you hum 'It's a Miracle' under your breath or 'Mandy' if you're in a really good mood. It's a kinda pitchy, but it's so cute that I forgive you."

Shame crashed over Angel in waves. "Cordelia, I'm so sor—"

"Shh, trying to prove something here?" Cordelia said, her smile bright. "Last time I saw you was my last day. That special gift from the PTB. I think it went a little something like this."

Cordy's hands came up to cradle his face, her thumb brushing over his lips before she kissed him. Angel was struck with more emotion than he'd dared to feel since her death. It sang through him so fiercely, for a moment he could pretend he was alive.

"How?" he asked, when she pulled back. Angel's hands fell to her shoulders, holding her there and looking her over. She was warm and solid beneath his touch. "How are you here right now?"

Something flickered through her eyes, sad and poignant.

She took a deep breath and raised her hand back to his face. "Um, that's what I wanted to talk to you about."

"Was it the Powers?" Angel asked. "Did they…?"

"No," Cordy admitted. "It wasn't the Powers."

"Then what could it be?" he asked and started with dreading realization. "Was if Wolfram and Hart? Did they hurt you?"

Cordelia shook her head, that sad look was there again, almost guilty.

"Then how? I don't understand…"

Cordelia sighed. It was a shaky, rough sound. "Trust me, honey. You're going to want to sit down for this one."

* * *

Spike lingered in the kitchen in uncomfortable silence. _What to do now that Angel's run off with his lady-love? _he wondered silently. Xander and Willow were talking adamantly about Cordelia's return, wandering off down the hall so that only the echoes of their voices remained before fading, leaving him with Buffy and Dawn.

Buffy.

Oh God how he'd bollixed things up with her.

She was still there, speaking softly to her sister. Spike couldn't quite think what to do. _The niblet loathes my undead innards and Buffy…_

Spike had overreacted. He knew it, though at the time it had seemed the sensible thing to do. Although he inwardly acknowledged his misstep, somehow Spike could not shake the feeling that he had it right. Sunnydale was still with him.

What did it matter if she brushed it off as meaningless? It had happened. Buffy had kissed Angel knowing fully well that Spike could have shown up to help her in the unconsecrated tomb at any time. She had still kissed him as if she didn't care who saw.

As if she didn't care who she hurt.

_It was different before, _he thought insistently, _before we were trapped like this. I would have left with her before he got the chance to crawl back under her skin again. _

Now they were stuck and Spike knew he didn't stand a chance if Angel was option one.

Buffy met his eyes and whispered something to Dawn. So much hurt there. The reality was scathing. He had cut her deeply. He had made her cry. Spike knew how long and hard she had bawled outside that room, he'd heard every shaking sob. _Wrenched me apart, tore me into mangy bits. _Only Buffy tears could do that. It had taken everything he had in him not to go out there, to comfort her, but he still wasn't sure.

Buffy shot him a final indecipherable glance, gave Dawn's hair one last stroke, and was walking away.

_Oh great, _he thought, _just me and the platelet. Too bad she wants to eviscerate me._

That was all right though. After what he'd done, he had wanted to eviscerate himself.

Despite these facts, he ventured to speak to her.

"You all right?" Spike asked, stepping forward, but not too close. "Looked like Angel's prom queen gave you quite the scare there, niblet."

Dawn looked at him, really looked at him, for what felt like the first time in forever.

"Yeah, I'm all right," she admitted.

_Oh the buggering awkward. _

"So we're speaking again," he commented with a slow nod.

"So we are."

"It's all bloody well and good if you still hate me," Spike said before he could shut his mouth. "I would if I were you."

"I can't," Dawn said softly.

Spike leaned up against the counter, shooting her a sideways glance. "Why's that, then?"

"Buffy," Dawn said with a glance in the direction her sister had fled.

"What about her?" he asked.

"It tore her apart, you know," Dawn said, "you dying."

"She said something in a similar vein, yeah," Spike said.

But being in that bedroom with Buffy was different. He heard her speak—worshipped every word—but he still couldn't fully grasp it. Buffy in Los Angeles, Buffy saying she loved him, and then being sucked into a hell dimension. With the bad piling up, Spike had scarcely a moment to contemplate the good.

"Before the Hellmouth, I wanted to—" Dawn huffed and stopped herself. "I wanted to try to make things, not the way they were necessarily but, I don't know…_better_ between us."

That got him. That blatant honesty that Dawn put forth with such insecurity, searching for the right words, falling flat, and yet still managing to convey exactly what she meant. It choked in his throat. It was heart rendering to find anything close to forgiveness from Dawn, the only person who had trusted him completely without his soul.

"Me too, little bit," he said softly.

Dawn smiled at him. It faded just as fast when her face darkened. "And then you were gone, and Buffy was empty and crying when she thought I couldn't hear her, and I realized that, well, I didn't hate you anymore."

"Means a lot," he said, "especially coming from you."

Dawn nodded in understanding, still not fully looking at him. "What happened with you guys?"

"Back in Sunnydale?" he asked, confused.

"No, I'm thinking along the lines of recent," Dawn replied. "Like today, maybe?"

Spike sucked in a deep breath through his teeth. "Old problems, new place."

"Are you two back together?" Dawn asked, point-blank.

"I don't know," Spike said. "More like trying to start out."

"She loves you."

Spike didn't answer.

"If you hurt her again—"

"I know, bed on fire, screaming agony," Spike finished with a heavy sigh. "Might be a bit late for that. If I were you, I'd be on the hunt for a loaded matchbox as we speak, knowing how badly I messed things up. Go on then, end my sodding misery."

He was poking fun, but still, his eyes searched her face for a hint of anger.

"I wouldn't do that," Dawn said. She had that look again, wide eyes searching her mind for the right phrase, the right way to put her emotions into words. "I'm happy you're not dead."

"Thanks," Spike replied.

There was a beat of comfortable silence.

"This has been nice but I'm on soup making duty. So please, go find my sister," Dawn said, granting him a real smile for the first time in over a year. "She gets all self-righteous when she's angry and right now between her inspirational speechifying and Angel's sullen burdened leader thing, I think I've had all I can take."

Spike nodded. They weren't back to the closeness they used to have, perhaps they would never have it again, but she didn't hate him. Spike grinned and gave Dawn a nod before he left, a small smile refusing to leave his lips.

* * *

Spike knocked twice on the suite upstairs, the one she'd helped bandage him in, the one he'd retreated to after their fight. The memory of her lips on his was fresh in his mind. Such a warm living mouth, lithe little body. The memory of her moving against him, touching him tentatively as if afraid he would break, was fresh in his mind and had him so bloody hot that he might burn up. It was driving him wild. There was nothing he wanted more than to love her with everything he had. Anything he had.

"Buffy," he said, knocking again. "Come on love, open up."

"It's open," came her reply, so quiet he barely caught it.

Spike pushed the door open cautiously. The candles were nearly spent, but she had just let them burn. Wax dribbled and pooled on the wooden dresser top, smoking softly and lacing the air with a sour scent. Buffy was sorting through a large duffel bag, one he'd seen a slayer with earlier. It was filled with weapons of every sort with her scythe, her prized possession, shining on the top.

"That's a bugger lot of weaponry you got there," he said, his eyes locked on the bag. "Planning an invasion sometime soon?"

"Not so much," Buffy said, zipping the bag with some difficulty. "But I can't just sit here and do nothing. I don't wait around. Those demons are gonna be back. I can feel it. I think I should wake up the girls, take them to the basement to spar a little. They should be training and coming up with battle strategies, preparing for the worst."

Her voice was cold. Spike almost flinched from the sound of it.

"Sounds to me like a solid plan," he replied.

Buffy just made a low noise of agreement in her throat, finally zipping the bag all the way closed.

"So, Angel's psychic honey's back from the beyond," Spike mused, taking a step into the room.

"Didn't know they had honey status," Buffy said, standing and shouldering the duffel with a soft grunt.

"Oh yeah," Spike said, watching her face, trying to gauge a reaction. "Saw her a while back here. Cozy those two were. _Conjoined_ peas in a pod."

"Okay then," Buffy said, barely paying attention as she walked to the door. Spike felt a flicker of hope at that response. It was clear that she could not have cared less if she wanted to.

Spike blocked her way as she moved to leave. He almost flinched at that look in her eye, that irritated gleam that betrayed deeper hurt.

"Move, I don't have time for this," Buffy said impatiently.

"We can talk first, I'll move later," Spike insisted.

"Oh yeah? _Save it,_" Buffy said, a harsh imitation.

Buffy pushed past him to the door, her shoulder slamming his roughly.

"I'm a git," he spoke up when she touched the handle.

He watched her shoulders slump. Buffy took in a shaky sigh and turned.

"Go on," she said and dropped the bag to cross her arms.

"I'm a git," Spike said again, coming closer with every word, "I'm a stupid git."

"You forgot horrible," Buffy said, her voice unreadable.

Spike rolled his eyes, but chuckled. "A horrible stupid git."

Buffy's lower lip trembled. She bit it, sucking it into her mouth to keep him from seeing her fear. That look had his mind racing, the thought behind it be damned, a thousand sordid images flickering in his brain. Spike tried to ignore the way his body was crying out for her in the most unbearable of ways. It took every ounce of his energy not to kiss every inch of her then and there.

"I'm sorry," Spike began. Buffy's face remained stubbornly stony, her mouth tightly shut. "I'm sorry for all of it, everything since Sunnydale. For the lying, and the cheating, and for hurting you."

"You literally just described all of the things that make you _you_, Spike," Buffy said, her voice still unbearably cruel.

"Not anymore," Spike said.

"No," Buffy agreed softly. "Not anymore."

She sat on the edge of the mattress, it creaked lightly under her slight weight. Much like he had just hours before, she patted the seat next to her. Spike sat, a safe distance.

"Why do we always hurt each other?" she asked him quietly. "You and me?"

"I don't know," Spike replied, "Might be because we're a couple of sad bloody sadomasochists."

Buffy rolled her eyes.

"I don't mean to," he admitted quietly.

"I just don't understand," Buffy said. "Where do you get off telling me how I feel?"

"Same place you did, I suspect," Spike mused.

"What do you—?"

"You used to do it all the time. To me. Before the…"

"Before the soul," she finished. She seemed almost surprised as she mused, "It hurts."

_She looks guilty, _Spike thought. That was new.

Buffy moved a bit closer and rested her head on his shoulder, nuzzling his neck as if to comfort him before pressing a kiss against the skin where his pulse would be if he had one.

"I'm so sorry," Spike said and allowed himself the luxury of touching her hair. It was soft, achingly so. When she didn't pull away, he fell into a rhythm of stroking it, letting it caress his fingers like silk.

"It's okay," Buffy soothed, as if he were more upset than she was. He wanted to tell her no, he wanted to tell her that she'd done nothing wrong, but the soft touch of her lips and that trace of her tongue against the yearning flesh of his throat rendered him speechless.

"Buffy," Spike began when he'd mustered up enough will power.

"I _do_ love you," she said, more to herself than to him it seemed. "I have trouble getting that word out to put it _really_ mildly—you probably know that better than anybody—but I do." Buffy smiled against his skin, one of her hands rising to brush his cheek with her knuckles. "I like the way it sounds, don't you? I love you... love you...love you…"

"Love you, Buffy," Spike whispered for the first time since Sunnydale. He gave in to himself, dragging her lips to his, allowing himself to drown in the sensation of her yielding mouth, that low noise she made.

"Say it again," she demanded, her hands pulling desperately at his duster. He shrugged it off and pulled her flush against him, just as she had been mere hours before. Buffy's legs straddled his lap, her fingers smoothed through his curling hair, playing with the white blond strands. Spike's hands ventured beneath her wrinkled shirt, savoring the feeling of warm skin. _Satin and silk, she is, _he thought, tracing the soft flesh of her belly. Buffy lifted her arms as he pushed the flimsy barrier of cloth away, his mouth dropping to her collar bone, the swell of her breasts. "Spike..."

"I love you," he repeated as Buffy rid him of his own shirt.

"Again…" she pleaded, dropping a kiss to the skin above his unbeating heart, her lips lingering.

Her eyes were filling with unshed tears just waiting to fall. They needed to talk.

"Buffy—" Spike began and stopped himself when he saw that pleading look she shot him. He could almost taste her desperation. She needed _this_. "I love you."

Buffy nodded and caught his lips with hers again, her hands tracing the contours of his chest, up and down in a senseless pattern before resting on his belt and fumbling with the buckle.

Her mouth lowered to his chest again with gentle kisses and love bites. Spike groaned at the sensation before flipping her so that she lay beneath him, her eyes locked on his as he made quick work of her clothing, unable to stop touching her. _It's been so long. So bloody long._

"Again," Buffy continued to ask him breathlessly as her gasps rose in volume, as he worshipped her in the ways he'd been craving to since they had reunited—_with everything I have. Anything I have—_answering every time, giving her what she needed every way he could.

"I love you," he murmured. "Love you."

"Spike," Buffy said, catching his face between her hands, forcing him to meet her eyes. Her face was flushed, her breathing was rapid, and he could hear the melodic thrum of her blood within her veins. "I love you too."

* * *

Angel was trying his hardest to comprehend what Cordelia was telling him. He sat at his office desk, opposite of her, as she had instructed him. Angel wanted to know what had happened, he truly did, but her presence was so distracting, so real and touchable. Angel could hardly form words.

"I'm still astral, I think," Cordelia explained. "But I'm me. I'm real even though my body is dead. This is _just_ me. All of me."

"Is this how you were that day? The day you…well you didn't wake up, but…"

"Yes."

"But how, Cordy? The Powers gave you that day to say…" Angel could not bring himself to speak the word 'goodbye'. "I thought you were gone forever," he muttered in conclusion.

Cordelia lowered her head, Angel could almost taste her unease.

"What is it?" he asked, his brow furrowing. "What's wrong?"

"I defied the Powers," Cordelia whispered.

Angel stared at her, stunned.

"It wasn't intentional," Cordelia continued quickly. "It just…happened."

"Cordelia, what—"

"I couldn't let you go," she said, her mouth twitching. "When my body died, when we were in your office, I just…I don't know, something snapped. Whatever it was that held me to _me_, whatever tethers anyone to their body, it stayed on the astral plane. I lost my corporality and all I could see was this endlessness. I felt them calling to me—the big wigs in the higher planes—they wanted to take me up with them, but I couldn't…I wouldn't let you go and I was stuck."

"That's terrible," he murmured.

"Believe me when I agree. Well, it took a while, but I started to be able to interact with the real world again," she said, smiling. "I could see it, sometimes, but I don't think anyone could see me."

"We can see you here," Angel observed. He reached across the desk and caught her hand before he could change his mind, fingers rubbing circles into her wrists. It was that same skin she had in life, warm and perfectly moisturized. Angel could even smell her lotion. "We can touch you here."

"This reality's thin, Angel," Cordy said as if it were obvious. "_My_ reality's thin. It works out."

"Huh," Angel mused.

"When Los Angeles shifted, I could feel it," Cordelia explained. "That's when I realized, I wasn't just tethered to the astral plane. I was tethered to L.A. When we got sucked in, well, I guess my attachment to Los Angeles was stronger."

"And now?" Angel asked.

"This reality," she responded. "I felt the shift, during the battle. Everything became more solid. I could almost touch again."

"You were there," he said, almost surprised.

"You know I was."

It hung between them, an unspoken confession. The demons surrounding him, the touch of her hand on his brow. _She saved my life_, he thought.

"And now you're stuck here too," Angel said.

"Seems like."

Angel sighed. "Willow's working on a way out and we _will_ get out Cordy, I swear," Angel stood and walked to her chair, kneeling before her. "We're going to find a way to keep you corporeal when we get back home."

For a moment he thought she was going to cry. That puzzled him. Why wasn't she relieved? The moment passed and Cordelia stood, walking around the office.

"I missed this place, you know," she said, shuffling through Wesley's notes that he had pulled from the hidden drawer. "It's so much like I remember it."

Angel watched her reacquaint herself with the office, a smile on his lips.

"Okay, it's a little dusty," Cordelia said and ran a finger along the desk top. She wrinkled her nose and inspected it with a shake of her head. "Well _a lot_ dusty."

Angel took a step and wrapped his arms around her waist from behind, burying his face in the crook of her neck. The ends of her short hair tickled his cheek.

Cordelia stiffened at first, then relaxed, her voice barely a sigh, "Angel—"

"I was so lost without you," he whispered.

Cordelia raised a hand behind her, resting it on the nape of his neck. She didn't say anything.

She didn't need to.

* * *

"Hey there uber-witch."

"Xander, hi," Willow said in greeting.

Xander glanced around the suite. It already looked less like a hotel room and more like the kind of place a witch could call home. Willow had lit at least a dozen candles and they burned on every surface in twinkling lights. Herbs from the pantry sat in china bowls, some smoking and filling the air with a heady, musky scent. Willow herself sat in the middle of the queen sized bed with the thick book from Angel's office and endless scraps of paper scribbled upon in an ancient cuneiform and Sanskrit.

"Brought you some brain food," Xander said, holding up a bowl and mug, a water bottle tucked under his arm. "The hotel had about fifty bottles of H two O in the pantry, so we know we aren't going to dry up and die. And, oh, look, instant coffee and some kind of pasta soup hybrid Dawn made."

"Sounds yummy and brain helpy," Willow said with a smile. "Thanks."

"Will, don't take this the wrong way, but you look exhausted," Xander observed, noting the dark shadows beneath her eyes. He sat on the edge of the bed.

"Oh, pshaw," Willow shook her head, barely stifling a yawn. "I'm just not feeling extra researchy right now."

"You want to lie down a minute?" Xander asked, setting the food on the bedside table.

"I can't sleep, Xander," Willow said. "Not until this is over."

"Please, Will," Xander said. "Just ten minutes."

He could see the fatigue in her eyes. She seemed to give in.

"Will you wake me up?" Willow asked weakly, lying back on the pillows.

"Yes," Xander said. "Ten minutes."

"Okay, ten…tadpoles…" Willow mumbled, already snoring lightly.

Xander leaned down and kissed her temple, but turned his attention to the materials surrounding them.

The book that Angel had given her sank slightly into the mattress with heavy weight. Beside it, Xander could see Willow's notes translating the Ancient Sanskrit into English, the entire first chapter looked done and she had begun work on the second.

"Interdimensional Travels," Xander whispered the title aloud and gathered up the book and notes as silently as he could. He crept quietly to the door and gave sleeping Willow one last look. "It'll just be ten minutes."


	12. Chapter 12

**Disclaimer: **It all belongs to Joss and Mutant Enemy. I own nothing.

* * *

Buffy rolled over and snuggled deeper into her sheets. _Bed feels bigger, _she thought and shifted again, _weird. Did Dawn buy new fabric softener?_

That scent, all sweet and sunshiny, was mixed with another, more familiar one. The scent of _his_ skin and the faint overlay of cigarette smoke with some kind of liquor were so strong that Buffy bit back tears. A dream, it had all been a dream, and now she was back in her static Roman lifestyle. Buffy screwed her eyes shut and tried hard to keep it together. In a moment, the scent would be gone, the warmth would be gone, and worst of all _he _would be gone. The guilt would come rushing in, racking her in cold, merciless waves. Buffy didn't know if she could take it, not after how real this one had felt. But her dreams had never been this vivid before.

It hit her.

She wasn't in Rome, not nestled up in her tiny, cozy apartment bedroom waiting to muddle through another day. When she opened her eyes, she would see Spike. Buffy reached out a tentative hand, her eyes still tightly shut, and met smooth skin and the hard lines of his abdomen. She retracted her fingers and exhaled in relief. The Apocalypse, the Hyperion, the Bridge Dimension—_the marathon sex, _she thought with barely contained glee—it had all happened, hadn't it?

"Be real, be real, be real," she murmured as a sort of prayer and opened her eyes, still not quite daring to believe it.

Buffy couldn't help but smile at the sight that greeted her. Spike's sleeping body was relieved of the tension he seemed to exude in wakefulness. His breathing was even and slow. Buffy found that strangely human trait endearing and caught herself smiling at him with a quiet chuckle. He shifted and muttered in his sleep, long eyelashes fluttering against his cheek before he settled back again. She brushed her fingers lightly over the curve of his cheekbone, skimming the hard muscle of his chest before flattening her palm over his unbeating heart. He looked more relaxed and contented than she had seen him in…well, ever.

Buffy kissed that soft skin beneath his ear and ran her tongue along the shell. He stirred and murmured, silly sleepy talk.

"Wake up," she whispered, suckling at his earlobe before pressing another kiss there. _Share this with me. _

He grinned, his eyes still closed as her lips caressed his jaw line. "Morning."

"Technically, it's the middle of the night here in Hell City," Buffy said, slinging an arm around his waist to press her cheek into his chest, nuzzling him there, "or extremely early. Either way, the big evil red sun has set and it doesn't look like it'll be up for a while."

Spike ventured a glance at her. "Sleep well?"

"Very," Buffy replied seriously. That faint look of doubt that still lingered on his features struck her hard. How could he still look like that after everything? She wanted to kiss it and make it better. She wanted to make him believe. "How about you?"

He laughed and kissed her forehead. "You know I did," he said, then added in a marveling whisper, "You were here. God, Buffy, you're really here."

Buffy stretched, her toes curling. "Present and accounted for."

She propped herself up on her elbow to stare down at him. He reached up to tuck a stray lock of hair behind her ear.

"You know, I was thinking" Buffy began, kissing him softly as she spoke, "we should take the girls out to patrol. You're shoulder seems better and this dimension's only as big as Los Angeles, right? Well, maybe wrong. I wasn't really clear on that. Either way, we should be on the lookout for demons in case the baddies get a yen for some slaughter and mayhem."

Spike nodded, kissing her again. "What about the sun?"

Buffy frowned. "Oh yeah. Does that rule still work here? I mean, is it a set in stone, name in blood kind of deal? Or is it flexible like…sales tax? Different in every city, or, you know, dimension?"

"Dunno," he replied and began to sit up. "Either way, we should probably wait til morning to find out. Girls gotta be completely knackered after everything that went down."

Buffy sighed and lay back. "Yeah, probably. Even after all the sleepy time, I'm still kinda knacked," She frowned and added, "erred."

Spike leaned over her, one hand rising to caress her hair with an almost worshipful expression, letting it slither through his fingers before raking through once more. A pleasant tingle spread from her scalp to her toes, making her shiver.

Buffy closed her eyes to absorb the feeling and smiled. "You're doing it again."

"Doing what?"

"You with the hair touching," she said arching her back as his fingers threaded through her tangled strands once more. "This is quickly becoming a thing."

"Oh, sorry," he murmured and pulled his hand back almost instantly.

Buffy frowned and opened her eyes. "Sorry? Keep going," she said and shut her eyes once more. "It feels good."

She heard that soft sound of wonderment. His hand was back at her hair again and combed through once. "Like this?"

"Yeah," she said, pouting when he didn't continue. "Hey, make with the strokey."

"Bloody gorgeous hair," he whispered as if dazed.

Buffy met his eyes and ruffled a hand through his own messy bleached curls, soft without the gel. "We both have mega bead-head."

He ran a hand through his hair and laughed at what he felt there.

"When's Angel getting that tiny generator going?" Buffy asked. "I know this is a hell bridge and I should be more concerned with other more important things…but dear God, I could kill for running water."

"I know," he murmured. Spike crawled over her, pressing her deliciously into the mattress, his mouth dropping to her neck. He was warm from her skin. "You don't have to get up yet. We've got a couple hours before big evil sun comes a rising."

Buffy sighed as he wound his fingers through hers, dragging her arms up.

Spike met her eyes, his tongue trailing her throat before he caught her mouth with his.

"Yeah," Buffy agreed breathlessly, "hours…"

* * *

Buffy wandered downstairs and into the kitchen, hell-bent on finding food. The girls were in their rooms. Some things never change. Early morning is still early morning in hell. She sighed and adjusted the thin cotton robe around her body, emblazoned with a small _H_ on the right breast pocket. Buffy cursed herself for not getting better dressed before leaving the suite, but she was starving and her clothes were wrinkled from the rain. She had to admit that it did feel kind of sexy, wearing a hotel robe and almost nothing else in this glamorous place. Thank God no one else was up. She was craving a shower. Her skin felt sticky and hot. Outside of the privacy of the hotel suite, it was uncomfortable to say the least.

As if on cue, the light fixture overhead flickered once, twice, and was on. It brightened the dark lobby light by light, each one flickering to life in succession. Buffy shielded her eyes for a moment to adjust, but grinned and kept on toward the kitchen.

The door leading to the basement stairs opened as she walked by, making her jump.

"Oh, Buffy. It's you," Cordelia said and looked her over. "Did you forget something? You know like clothes?"

Buffy felt a twinge of embarrassment. Her hair was a rat's nest and she was wearing underwear beneath the cotton robe. She smoothed her hair behind her ears, trying to make it presentable. "I didn't know anyone else was up."

"I helped Angel fix the generator. Now we can finally bathe and stuff," Cordelia explained with a nod toward the basement door. "There are clothes in a box by the kitchen, if you need them. Dawn found them in the rooms. She made breakfast too about an hour ago but I think she went back upstairs."

"Thanks," Buffy replied.

There was an awkward beat.

"I-uh, I'll just go get those clothes. Now." Buffy cringed at the sound of her voice and turned. To her surprise, Cordelia followed behind her.

The cardboard box just outside the kitchen had long since been raided. The only things left were a pale blue cotton undershirt, two men's t-shirts, and assorted jeans. Buffy grabbed the women's tank for her, a dark grey t-shirt for Spike, and a pair of jeans each, holding her choice against her body to make sure it would fit and guessing with his.

Cordelia was still there, just watching.

Buffy sighed and turned to her, slinging the clothing over her arm. "Look, not to sound rude, but are you planning on saying something anytime soon?"

Cordelia laughed. "Sorry, I'm just...It's here. The Apocalypse. Don't blame me for being a little excited."

"The Apocalypse is here, and you're excited," Buffy said blankly. "Geez, you've still got that brutally honest streak, don't you Cor?"

"Come on, I'm not excited for the apocalyptic stuff. I don't even know what the world's going to be like if this all turns bad," Cordelia explained. Her face softened. "It's just finally happening."

"What is?" Buffy asked, wandering into the kitchen, Cordelia still on her heels. She stopped before a pot on the stove and opened it to find slightly hardened oatmeal. Food was food, and Buffy was starving. She raided a drawer for a spoon and dug in. It was sugary with the slightest hint of cinnamon.

Cordelia studied Buffy eating her oatmeal and hopped up on the marble countertop. "You mean, Angel never told you?"

"Told me what?" Buffy asked between spoonfuls.

"About the Shanshu?"

Buffy frowned. "The sham who?"

"_Shanshu_," Cordelia corrected, tilting her head and looking Buffy over. "You know, big Apocalypse, _The_ Apocalypse. It's Angel's chance to be human."

Buffy choked on her oatmeal and swallowed hard before gasping, "What?"

Cordelia shifted uncomfortably. "He never told you? I thought you knew."

"Color me stunned," Buffy said, her voice still vacant and astonished. "Human? Like living, breathing, heart-beatingly human?"

"Well it's not that specific," Cordelia explained. "We never even read the full text. All we know is that Angel will earn the Shanshu by fighting in The Apocalypse."

Buffy wrinkled her brow, still not quite able to process the information. "What does he have to do?"

"Hell if I know," Cordelia explained. She still looked discomforted. Why was that?

"What's up?" Buffy asked. "You're all weird-acting."

Cordelia shrugged. "It's just…you're here."

"Yes," Buffy agreed slowly, taking another bite before saluting Cordelia with the utensil. "Me and my little oatmeal spoon."

"And Angel's here," Cordelia continued. Buffy only continued to eat her oatmeal, unsure of what she was getting at. Cordelia let out a frustrated sigh and said, "Once he's human...you two can finally be together."

Buffy choked again, this time less successfully swallowing it.

"God, Buffy, ew," Cordelia criticized.

"I'm ew? You're the one offering your honey up on a silver platter," Buffy exclaimed, coughing and grabbing a dishtowel to wipe her mouth, "and _I'm _ew? I'm ew—How ew can you get?"

"Isn't that what you want?" Cordelia asked, a bit surprised, slightly offended. "And I definitely wasn't offering by the way. I just thought…" she trailed off, looking more confused than ever.

Buffy gaped at her and gestured down at her barely covered body. "No, that is _not_ what I want. I'm in a committed relationship as of…almost several hours ago."

Cordelia cocked an eyebrow at that one in a way that had Buffy feeling sixteen again.

"I'm sorry, my mistake," Cordelia said, a bit sarcastically. "You've only been pining over Angel since high school."

"I did _not_ pine over him!" Buffy said. "And what do you know? It's not like you were there. You were here, _with _Angel." She thought about it a moment and said in confused realization, "You probably know him better than I ever did."

"Yeah," Cordelia agreed, looking almost satisfied, then as if she wanted to protest again. "But you—"

"I moved on, Cordelia," Buffy said. "I'm allowed to do that, you know. Most people do. In my understanding it is perfectly normal to engage in romantic relationships after high school's over, healthy even. Also, I've been told that good skin might be a pleasant one-off side effect."

"Good skin, huh?" Cordelia said slowly. She sighed and slid off the counter top. "But you, you're human."

"So are you," Buffy said, looking her over. Cordelia was still pretty, still wearing great clothes, had perfect hair. Buffy resisted the urge to smooth down her own tangles.

Buffy wasn't jealous, not really. It was just strange, imagining Angel's life outside of her, being in love with someone else—and _Cordelia_ of all people—she had never seen him like that before and it was a difficult image to conjure. Angel, the guy with a life outside of Buffy obsession. It even sounded strange in her head. _God, did I ever even know him? Is it weird that this is vaguely funny?_ Buffy wondered internally.

Cordelia still looked stricken in a way that had Buffy's heart twisting in her chest.

"You _are_ human, Cordelia," she assured her.

"Not really," Cordelia replied, her face terribly sad. "I'm a dead human. Technically I'm a dead part-demon in an astral body tethered to an artificial plane that keeps me corporeal, but—"

"I'll admit, you kinda lost me there so I'm going to stop you before you get started on the demon-dimensional whosit whatsit stuff," Buffy said. Cordelia rolled her eyes, but her resolve to argue seemed to lessen. "Cordy, you don't need to be all threatened by something that isn't going to happen. I mean, Angel loves you, doesn't he?"

"I think so," Cordelia said quietly with a quick smile that melted back into melancholy. She turned to the kitchen archway and paused. "But he shouldn't."

Buffy watched her leave and felt a strange sense of sympathy. _This is Cordelia. Bitchy, shallow Cordelia,_ she reminded herself, but she still could not shake that need to comfort her. No, they had never been the best of friends in high school, but there was something different about the woman in front of her. She'd changed. She was softer, sadder. Buffy could hardly stand seeing her look so desolate. They had been almost-friends after all, despite the teenage cattiness that often got in the way.

Buffy glanced down at her armful of clothing, oatmeal spoon in one hand and shook off those confusing feelings.

God, she really needed to go kill something.

* * *

"You ready?" Buffy asked.

Spike nodded and stuck his hand beneath the curtain. He flinched, preparing himself for the worst. He pulled his hand back and shook his head. "No burn."

The eight slayers gathered around them at the Hyperion door tightened their grip on their weapons. After everyone had showered and eaten their fill of Dawn's sugar saturated oatmeal, Buffy had decided it was time to patrol. _God I've missed this, _Spike thought, almost twitching with anticipation as he hovered beside the door.

"How about you?" Buffy addressed the slayers. "Everyone ready?"

"Let's go," Veronica said in fierce determination. Spike knew exactly where she'd learnt that voice.

He grinned. Bunch of mini-Buffys, all of them. The girl herself pushed those doors open and Spike caught his first eyeful of the hell outside.

The odd thing, it _was _Los Angeles. The entire city, exactly as it had been with only a few minor differences. The streets were run with cracks, deep and jagged from the earthquakes that had started this ordeal. The sky was the deepest red, blood red, with only the faint outline of a sun in the same color illuminated by a filmy, pale yellow circle. That sky had him salivating, struggling not to shift into game face then and there. Weird impulse. Spike ventured a glance to Buffy, her mouth was open slightly in surprise, in awe and horror.

"Stay close to me," Buffy instructed the lot of them, her eyes flickering to the battle ravaged minivan parked out front.

"No arguments here," one spoke up, a nervous timber in her voice as she played with the strap of her overalls.

They were scared and couldn't be blamed for it. Spike felt mostly curious, but yeah, the prospect of L.A. hell was humbling.

"I thought it was bad before," Spike muttered aloud.

Buffy took a tentative step and stopped before the trees that framed the hotel entrance. Their leaves had dried overnight. They were faintly brown and brittle, the red light coming from a pale outline of a sun just as red as the sky shone through them.

Spike knelt at the base of one. "Take a look at this."

Buffy crouched beside him as he scooped up a handful of soil, letting it run through his fingers. It was grey and chalky. On closer inspection, all the exposed earth had the same color and consistency.

"Weird," Buffy whispered. She stood and cleared her throat. "We should split into pairs, look through the city, but don't go too far. I don't want anyone getting lost in this. We meet back here in one hour's time. Watch yourselves and watch each other's backs."

The girls murmured in agreement and started grouping together and wandering with fists slightly tighter on their axes or swords.

"I got the best buddy," Buffy said, leading Spike toward Wilshire.

"No," Spike said with a shake of his head. He could not stop staring at her. "I did."

Buffy grinned at that, then furrowed her brow. "I hope the girls can handle this. Do you think they'll be okay?"

"A bunch of highly skilled slayers, trained by _you_ to kill any demon who gets in their way?" Spike began. "They're safe as houses."

Buffy sighed in relief then frowned. "Which is weird, cause, if you think about it, houses do not equal safe. Or at least, _my_ house didn't. It equaled zombies once though."

Spike found himself leading the way through restaurants, small shops, dingy homes, and cheap housing complexes, unconsciously tracing the streets back toward his own small apartment.

"You know your way around," Buffy commented.

"Lived here almost a bloody year didn't I?"

"Right," she said, her voice low.

Buffy seemed almost hurt. That look had him feeling guilty.

"I hate Los Angeles," he said. At least her painful expression melted always into confusion.

"You do?" she asked.

"Yeah, nothing but crushed dreams and plastic noses. Not to mention the little demon problem they've got," Spike said. "Well _that _part wasn't too bad. Kind of fun, really."

"But no fun to be had from the plasticine facial features," Buffy said, "got it."

She chewed on her lower lip. Spike knew that look. Buffy had something to say, all he needed to do was wait.

"If you hate it, why stay?" Buffy asked him moments later, her eyes glued to the scythe in her hand.

Spike frowned. "Loaded question, love."

"I know, but I don't _know_, you know?"

"No."

Buffy sighed. "What I mean is, what kept you here? Obviously something did. Somehow I doubt it was best-friendiness with Angel. So what? Please tell me it wasn't the Smurfette."

Spike laughed. She was acting almost jealous. It felt good, knowing that Buffy loved him in return. Knowing that the smallest thing, like Illyria, could elicit such a reaction.

"Yes and no," Spike said. "I liked…oh God I sound like a poncy sod."

"You just used words that I don't fully understand. You have to spill," Buffy said, amused.

"Fair enough," Spike said, earning a smile. He wasn't quite sure how to put his feelings into words, how to make her understand. "I stayed because…I had _friends _here."

Buffy still looked confused. Spike continued, "I don't mean we were bosom, joined at the hip, best mates forever friends. I just mean…I fit here. I had a place here. I felt welcome."

"You had a place with me," Buffy said, glancing at him as they rounded a particularly deep crack.

"With _you_, yeah," Spike said, shifting uncomfortably. "But face it, that last year Dawn couldn't even look at me, Xander's always hated me, and Willow and I were never close. Adding in a bunch of teenage girls who couldn't wait to slam a stake through my chest didn't really make a fella feel welcome."

"I didn't hate you," Buffy protested in a grave, soft murmur.

"No," Spike agreed. "No, you didn't."

Buffy grinned, but tensed just as quickly. "Did you hear that?"

Spike stopped walking and strained his ears to hear. Footsteps, too heavy to belong to a slayer, met them with soft thuds. "Yeah, something's coming."

Buffy's grip on the scythe tightened. "Be careful," she instructed gently.

Spike cocked an eyebrow. _Be careful, _he thought in repeat, _what happened to watch your back or cover me? Be careful…_

He didn't know what to make of it.

"Spike!"

Spike ducked just in time as a sword swung over his head, smashing a crosswalk button into a mess of wires and metal. A demon, one of the tall, grey-skinned armored ones from the battle in the rain, roared a deafening screech and raised its weapon again. The sword, rusted with age and decorated with sculpted iron vines, swung through the air again as the demon spun, barely missing Spike's head.

"That all you got?" Spike asked, swinging the short battle-axe a slayer had lent him. The demon blocked the blow and bellowed again, snapping sharp lower tusks dripping with ropes of saliva. Spike moved to hit it again. "You're one sad, ugly bastard, mate."

The demon simply growled and lurched toward him with clumsy, brute strength. Spike staggered as he blocked the blow with the axe handle. He tried to pull back to get in another hit, but the connection was not so easy to break. They were locked that way, his strength against the demon's. God that thing was burly, all muscle and cord.

There was the deafening crack of breaking ribs. The demon grunted and dropped to its knees, its sword cluttered to the ground. Buffy kicked its back again with a crunch, eliciting a howl of pain before the pointed end of the scythe pushed cleanly through its chest. Buffy pulled it out with a squelch and neatly decapitated the demon.

"Thanks for that," Spike said.

"You okay?" Buffy asked, her hands coming up to cradle his face, her fingers smoothing through his hair.

"Yeah, yeah I'm all right," he assured her, touched by her concern.

Buffy sighed and pressed her forehead to his. She was holding back tears. Spike frowned when she buried her face in his chest, her arms crushing around his middle. It was bordering on painful, but he didn't stop her, he let her hold him.

"What is it?" he asked. "What's wrong?"

"Me?" Buffy said and sniffed, pulling away quickly. "It's nothing."

Spike wanted to push her, but he wouldn't. He wanted her to talk to him when she was ready.

"If you say so," he muttered.

Buffy stooped down beside the sword. "Check out this big ugly."

The metal was tarnished with rust and a fine grey chalky sheen covered it. Under the grime, a curious symbol was molded into the thick metal handle—a demonic face with twin profiles flanking it, each one sporting an unnatural feature of either horns, fangs, or snout.

"Looks like our friend here dug this out of the ground," Spike said.

"So what does that mean?" Buffy asked, brushing away some of the dust.

"No idea," Spike replied.

"We should go back, let everyone know there was a demon out. Let's find the girls," Buffy said, sword in one hand, scythe in the other.

"We should probably head back to the hotel and wait for them."

"I don't like this," Buffy said slowly. "What if there's more of them?"

"Best we not stick around and find out," Spike replied.

They wandered back toward the Hyperion, neither of them able to wrench their eyes from even the faintest shadows.


	13. Chapter 13

**Disclaimer: **The Buffyverse belongs to Joss Whedon and Mutant Enemy, nothing in it belongs to me.

* * *

The walk back to the hotel seemed to last a lifetime. Most of the girl's were still patrolling and Buffy's nerves were taut after their encounter with the demon. Now, with its sword in her hand, new resolve flooded her. If there were demons getting in from the other world, the Partners' world, maybe there would be a way to get back into theirs. She mulled this over, her fingers running small paths along the sword's dusty surface. Buffy knew she could get them out. There had to be a way.

"What kind of way were you thinking?" Spike had asked when she voiced her concern.

"I don't know," Buffy replied, tightening her grip on the demon's weapon. "I can just feel it."

And she could. It almost felt like a Slayer dream, although she was awake. She knew they were going to get out and Buffy wanted to prepare for it. She needed a better plan. _I've got all my planning people right here. Willow, Xander, and Giles is just an interdimensional phone call away. _That last one scared her. They needed Giles on this and they only had him until Willow's battery died. _Thanks a heap modern technology, _Buffy thought. She realized a moment later that Giles himself was probably thinking the same thing. The idea made her heart ache and her determination strengthen.

Giles would know about the sword, the demon. He could find out anything they needed and they were running out of time. Without his help they were as good as dead, fodder for the Senior Partners on their way into Earth. It had already been nearly two days, how much longer could they afford to be stuck?

Buffy studied the sword again, cool, hard, and heavy. That symbol, that curious symbol, what did it mean? The sword had her fear rising with a vengeance, a cold jolt down her spine. She ventured a glance at Spike, calling out for the remaining slayers and felt a protective surge. Buffy knew he could take care of himself, but for some reason, she couldn't shake this feeling, this impulse to keep him safe. Acting on it was no longer optional, she knew it the moment she saw him fighting that demon. _I'm not going to be responsible for him dying a second—third?—_another _time. _

Maybe they had moved too fast, glossed over the ugly parts of what hurt and what didn't because they were too eager, but Buffy found that she didn't care. It seemed hard to work through normal couple stuff—_if the problems we have qualify as normal couple stuff—_while trapped in a bridge dimension between Earth and Hell. _I never really had time to be logic girl, _Buffy thought, _I just sort of dove in and did it. _Although the realist in her was hesitant, almost fearful about her life right now, she didn't want to stop. Buffy wanted to keep going and see where it would take her. She loved him. He loved her. _Yeah, so what if I'm a tad overprotective? It's just a teensy little bit. He'll understand, _Buffy thought as they entered the hotel.

Buffy sighed and made a beeline for the kitchen. She could feel Illyria's eyes on her back when she walked by, burning through her and increased her pace. There was something bordering on invasive in the way her eyes refused to blink. It made Buffy uneasy.

Buffy's legs were tired, her mind was racing. Spike had gone back upstairs to shower and the girl's had scattered every which way into the hotel. The rest of the slayers were up and moving as Dawn ladled out steaming spoonfuls of noodles from a large pot on the stove.

"There you go," Dawn said, spooning out another bowlful for Vi as Buffy approached.

"Dawn?"

"Yeah, Vi?"

"Are you sure that…um…" Vi trailed off nervously, staring into her bowl.

"Yeah, Vi?" Dawn asked again, this time in warning.

"Nothing, looks delicious," Vi said with an anxious chuckle.

"Come on, it's good," Dawn said in encouragement and ate a noodle from her own serving. She wrinkled her nose. "Okay, a little chewy, but chewy is good, right?"

Vi took a tentative bite and relaxed. "Yeah, it's good."

"Oh, thank God," Dawn said with a relieved giggle and spooned more of her newest invention into surrounding bowls.

"Hey, how's it going in here, Julia Child?" Buffy asked, leaning against the coolness of the counter.

"Good. I made these weird chewy noodles with instant soup. Want some?" Dawn asked, holding up her ladle so Buffy could see.

"I think I'll pass right now," Buffy replied. Food was the last thing on her mind.

"Okay, but you're missing out on a world of rubbery goodness," Dawn said, popping another noodle in her mouth and shutting the lid to the pot on the burner. "What's with the shiny new toy?"

The demon's sword was still in her hands. Buffy ran her finger along the dusty handle and furrowed her brow.

"Well, for starters, we may not be as alone as we thought we were," Buffy said with a sigh.

"Demon?" Dawn asked, all too desensitized to the thought.

"Demon," Buffy confirmed. "Big, muscular, bad teeth. We saw a few like him on that first night."

"Eee," Dawn shuddered.

"Yeah, he was cringe-worthy," Buffy agreed and studied the sword. "Now he's dead."

"So, the sword…?"

"The demon had it. Looks like he dug it up somewhere," Buffy said. "I was thinking of going back out, trying to find the spot later. Who knows, maybe it's important."

"Are you sure that's safe?" Dawn asked, turning off the stove and putting the lid back on her noodles.

"Dawnie, I don't really know what that means anymore," Buffy replied. She ran her fingers over the curious symbol molded into the metal. "We should find out what we can about the sword at least. Where's Willow?"

"Upstairs," Dawn replied. "She's still hitting the books pretty hard about this spell thing, trying to get us home. Xander brought her some food earlier."

"Okay, thanks," Buffy replied and turned. "I'm going to go talk to her, see what she might know about our scabby dead guy out there. Maybe we can get a hold of Giles. He's the expert on this kind of thing."

"She's in room 234," Dawn called behind her.

"Thanks," Buffy answered with a short wave over her shoulder.

Buffy made it through the lobby and skipped up the stairs two at a time. Her energy was high, elated after the fight and her mind was racing with the possibilities of escape. This hell place was getting a little too claustrophobic for comfort. Buffy reached Willow's room and knocked twice on the wooden door in short dulled thumps.

"Hey, Will?" she asked. "Spike and I took the girls out to patrol. I got something that could be important."

No answer.

"Willow?" Buffy asked and pushed her ear against the door's smooth surface. No noise. Buffy's hand found the doorknob and turned.

Willow was asleep in the center of the bed, her comforter twisted around her ankles, snoring lightly.

Something was wrong. The candles in the room were burned low, wax pooling on her bedside tables and dressers, dripping into the carpet to form hard clumps. Stranger still, there were no books, no notes, nothing to suggest that Willow had been working on a way to get them out.

Buffy sat down on the side of the bed and laid a hand on Willow's shoulder, shaking gently.

"Will, wake up," Buffy said.

Willow muttered and swiped at her hand.

"Willow," Buffy said again, shaking harder.

"Wh-what? What time's it…?" Willow asked groggily, pressing the heels of her hands into her eyes and rubbing.

"It's afternoonish, standard hell-time," Buffy replied, her hoarse voice betraying her concern despite the glib comment. "Willow, how long were you asleep?"

"Asleep?" Willow asked and sat straight up. She immediately began rubbing her temples. "Xander said ten minutes…"

Willow yawned again, and then stiffened. She glanced down at her comforter, barely concealed horror on her face, and twisted around to look behind her, frantic and strained. "Oh no, where is it?"

"Where's what?" Buffy asked, moving off the bed as Willow began searching her sheets in hurried desperate movements, throwing pillows as she went. Buffy caught one out of the air. "Hey, there are candles in here and last I checked everything is kind of flammable."

"It's gone," Willow said as if she hadn't heard her. "How can it be gone?"

"Willow, what happened?" Buffy asked, dropping the pillow.

Willow stood and began pacing, her hands running through her hair, pulling and twisting it. She froze. "Xander."

"Xander?" Buffy repeated, mystified.

"Xander!" Willow said and took off toward the door.

"Willow, wait!"

Buffy took off after her as Willow ran down the hall, rounding the corner by the stairs to the lobby, back toward Xander's room. The candle's set upon the old fashioned furniture that lined the hall still burned, despite the newly working generator producing dim lighting. The flames flickered on the wall as they ran, creating ominous shadows.

Willow reached Xander's room before Buffy and knocked. "Xander, how long was I asleep? My book's missing, you have to help me…Xander?"

Willow pushed the door open and Buffy followed behind.

Xander sat on the floor in front of the bed, a large, ancient looking book and a stack of papers surrounding him.

"Xander?" Willow asked in uncertainty.

He jumped, scattering papers high. They floated down around him as he reached and tried to snatch them out of the air.

"Hey there, Willow. I was just—" Xander dropped the papers again. "Damn."

"Xander, that's my book," Willow stated, confused. Hurt.

"You took her book?" Buffy asked, unable to hide her confusion. "Xander, why would you do that?"

Willow knelt in front of him and helped him gather the papers. She sat back on her heels and watched him, waiting for him to speak.

"Will, this isn't…it's not what it looks like," he said lamely, though he still struggled to find better words.

"I don't really know what it _does_ look like, Xander," Willow said, frowning.

"I do," Buffy said and crossed her arms. "You risked our lives; the Senior Partners could be coming through at any time to bring about The Apocalypse, and for what? You just wanted to read a bedtime story?"

"Xander, how could you?" Willow asked in a hushed whisper, still sounding more perplexed than hurt.

"It's complicated, guys," Xander replied hoarsely.

"Well, why don't you start explaining then," Buffy said. Her voice was cold, but Xander's expression left her with a gnawing feeling of empathy. She let the demon's sword clatter to the floor and knelt down beside Willow.

Xander took a deep breath. He rubbed his eyes and exhaled shakily. "Did I ever tell you why I went to Africa?"

"Rip roaring adventurous fun?" Willow asked with a weak smile.

Xander frowned and shook his head. "Ever since—ever since Sunnydale…" Xander stopped for a moment, gathering himself. "Ever since well, you know when, there's been this one thing on my mind. One scary, terrible thought. It's always there, every day, just eating away at me." He grinned as if hearing a private joke. "My own personal demon."

"Anya?" Buffy asked, but she already knew the answer.

"Anya," Xander confirmed.

"Xander, it's terrible what happened to Anya," Buffy began, "but if you're talking about raising the dead—"

"No, no," Xander protested. "I'm not going to bring her back. Well of course I _want_ her back…but no. I'm not messing with that again."

"You took my notes, my book on interdimensional travels, and you're saying you did it because of Anya?" Willow asked. "I don't really see…Xander…"

"After the Hellmouth collapsed, and we stopped in that hotel on the way to Cleveland, that was when it started," Xander explained. "Everyone was quiet and sad or like too hyper, too jazzed up for it to have been an apocalypse. But all I could think about was '_where's Anya'_? And I don't just mean like, she should have been there, or that I missed her, because I did. I thought those things too. I just started to wonder," Xander said and stopped. He ran a hand over his hair and exhaled shakily. "I started to think she was in hell."

"No," Buffy protested, cutting him off before he could continue.

"Buffy's right, don't even _think_ about it," Willow agreed.

"I have to think about it, Will. It's all I think about," Xander replied. "I was in denial for a long time, but I realized something. I think about Spike and Angel. I could just look at their body counts and get this really good feeling. I knew that when their time came, their grand dusty exit, they would be heading for the bad place. Soul or no soul."

"Angel and Spike have both done a lot of good. They've saved lives, _our_ lives, they've both helped save the world," Buffy said, her temper flaring. "Xander, how can you even _say_ that—?"

"Hey, I'm not saying I was right, Buff. Who am I to know if they will or won't? But I did realize that Angel's only two and a half centuries old and Spike's younger than that," Xander interrupted. "Anya was slaughtering men in the most brutal ways you can imagine for eleven hundred years. And she _liked_ it. She enjoyed killing just as much as any vamp ever did back when she was a demon. I used to get really angry and close my eyes and imagine that our two soulful vampire friends would be dorming in Hell Hall come afterlife whenever they royally pissed me off. But after Sunnydale, I started to get scared. I started to think, hey, maybe she's there right now."

"Oh God," Willow whispered.

"Xander, I know it's hard," Buffy began with careful words. "But we can't mess with life and death."

"I don't want to, Buffy. I want to do something for her," Xander replied. "I started in Africa. I must have spoken to a hundred different warlocks and shaman. I wanted one to help me locate her, find out where she is, what dimension."

"That would take incredible skill, like unparalleled knowledge of dimensions to locate a single being. Did you ever find anyone who could do it?" Willow asked, her voice almost awed.

"No," Xander admitted, swallowing heavily. "Buffy, if you hadn't called me for this, I'd still be there. After Africa, I was thinking of heading somewhere in Asia after, maybe India, I don't know. But I'm not ready to give up on her, not yet. I'm gonna find her and I'm going to make sure she's somewhere good even if I have to send her there myself. I owe her that. That's why I needed the book, Will. I saw the title in Angel's office and I thought—I would have given it back, I swear, it's just I lost track of time and…"

Willow shook her head and pulled Xander into a tight hug. She sniffed and buried her face in his shoulder. "Oh, God. I can't be mad at you. Not about this."

Xander looked over at Buffy and held out his other arm. She felt a twinge of pain deep in her chest and went in for the hug, rubbing his back lightly, comfortingly. _I would have stolen it too, _she realized, her anger evaporating, _I would do it for both of you, for Dawn, for Giles, for Spike. I would have made that same selfish mistake if it meant saving you two. If I thought I could help. _

"Am I forgiven, then?" Xander asked quietly, raising an eyebrow as Buffy hugged him closer, new understanding filling her.

"Of course you are, you dummy," Willow said. "That was scary and…"

Willow couldn't seem to find the words. Buffy helped her hold him tighter.

"Yeah, Xand," Buffy agreed quietly. "I'm so sorry."

"Just don't do it again," Willow replied, pulling back and poking him in the chest.

"I've sworn off book thieving, promise," Xander replied.

"Good, because book thieves don't get to be the middle part of the hug sandwich," Buffy replied. She and Willow squeezed at the same time.

"Huh, suddenly I find myself more motivated," Xander said.

Buffy glanced up at him and rolled her eyes.

"What? Everyone knows the middle's the best part," Xander replied. "I am so many kinds of cozy right now."

Willow pulled back first, gathering up her books. "Well cozy-guy, wanna help me research? Who knows, you could see something helpful. And I'll let you touch the book _without_ committing misdemeanor theft. I wouldn't want to prosecute you for this, mister."

"Especially because if we get out and the world goes to hell, all of our judges will probably be demonic. Somehow I'm thinking incarceration would not include unflattering striped pajamas and doing time on the highway picking up trash," Xander said, the corner of his eye crinkling with his smile.

"Who knows, helping me out could get you karmic vindication," Willow replied.

"I'll come too," Buffy said, brightening. "Will, I needed to show you something that I think could help. We'll go into research mode. I've missed doing that."

"Yeah, It'll be like old times, minus the doughnuts," Willow said.

"Dawnie made noodles," Buffy said in a sing song, mockingly tempting voice as Xander thought it over.

"Noodles and research," Willow said in the same tone, with a scoff of wonderment. "I don't know how anyone could resist such an enticing proposition."

"Okay, ladies, you got me. You have officially made me an offer that I can't refuse," Xander replied.

Buffy retrieved the demon's sword, holding out her hand to Xander. Willow did the same. He grasped both and allowed them to pull him up and followed them back toward Willow's suite in comfortable, understanding silence.

"Guys?" he asked tentatively.

"Yeah, Xander?" Buffy replied as Willow fumbled with the handle.

"Thanks."

* * *

**Author's Note: **Thanks to all of those who have read and either reviewed, made a favorite, or followed this story. I really appreciate it. Special shout out to **Gothic Saku-chan, ginar369, Gravenimage, TheBlueDragonWolf, **and a **Guest **for reviewing that last chapter. Please feel free to review, I love hearing your comments, thoughts, and opinions on the story. Thanks again!


	14. Chapter 14

**Disclaimer: **Nothing in the Buffyverse is mine. Joss and Mutant Enemy own it all. This is all for fun.

**Author's Note: **Thanks again for all the reviews, follows, and favorites! Please R&R.

* * *

_Just me and Buffy and Xander and Giles, _Willow thought with a rush of nostalgia. They sat on the floor before Willow's bed, the interdimensional book and notes surrounding them. Xander was wolfing down noodles and Willow had her phone to her ear, Giles on the other line. Despite the crazy hell situation, the freaky demon sword Buffy had found, and Xander's voracious appetite, Willow had warm fuzzies.

"Wow," Willow said, turning the sword over in her hands.

"I know, big wow," Buffy replied.

"And you said it just came out of nowhere?" Xander asked.

"No, not nowhere, somewhere, we just don't know where-where," Buffy finished with a shrug.

Willow was still studying the weapon intently. "It's ancient, pre-Christian for sure, and I gotta say, it gives me the heeby jeebies."

"What about the little symbol thingy?" Buffy asked. "Those three creepy faces are jeeby inducers."

Willow put the cell on speaker.

"It seems to be well—That can't be right. Now this just sounds rather silly," Giles said from the other end of the line.

"I can guarantee you that I won't laugh," Buffy said.

"It appears that this symbol is a seal and technically, well, a _logo_ of some sort," Giles admitted.

"A logo? Like Nike check mark style logo?" Buffy asked blankly. "What, did this demon have a brand name sword or something?"

"Lame," Xander commented around a mouthful of food. "Hey, he might've had brand name armor too, Buff. You could have taken it. For all we know it was like the Gucci of the demon world. We could have made a quick buck on the demonic black market."

"Xander, if you could refrain from commenting," Giles said.

"I'm just saying, we're in hell, the right currency could come in handy," Xander said, eating another mouthful. "What do you think they use, larvae?"

Willow knew that Giles was cleaning his glasses at the sound of his exasperated sigh.

"So what's the logo for? Something tells me that it's nothing as innocent as McDonald's golden arches," Buffy said.

"Ah, well Wolfram and Hart, actually," Giles said. "A number of the watchers in training arrived here this morning. They've brought several texts that we believe to be interdimensional in origin. It seems that this symbol, the ram center face with its associates flanking it was used as a wax seal in our dimension by at least the 1780s. We've discovered a similar symbol on what appear to be tax forms from as recently as four years past."

"So the thing that attacked us was from the Senior Partner's dimension," Buffy said.

"Precisely," Giles agreed. "If Buffy's assumption is correct, they have a way to enter the bridge. If we can discover it and exploit it for our own purposes—"

"We're homeward bound," Xander finished.

"Um, yes. I've already sent watchers to the perimeter of where Los Angeles once stood. They're searching for weak spots in the dimensional fabric. Oh for God's sake, Andrew—"

"Hi there, hi everybody," came Andrew's cheerful voice from the line's other end. "I just wanted to tell you that everything's great here in Long Beach. I helped identify the seal, it's like I'm almost a real watcher now. I just wanted to say how happy I am to hear your voices, and—Give it!"

There was a struggle on the other end. Willow ventured a glance to her friends. Xander—poor Xander—was rolling his eyes, still eating, and Buffy looked…well peeved to put it lightly. Willow frowned.

"Giles," Buffy said slowly. "That's Andrew on the line, isn't it?"

"Yes," Giles said, a bit breathless and more than irritated. "Unfortunately."

"Hey," Andrew whined in the background.

"Give him the phone, Giles," Buffy said.

"I would _not_ want to be Andrew right now," Willow whispered.

"Nuh-uh," Xander agreed, shaking his head. "Poor bastard."

"Andrew," Buffy said in greeting.

"Hi, Buffy…" Andrew's voice was decidedly less enthused. "So, you're in L.A."

"Yeah," Buffy said.

"Meet any interesting people? Or, uh, see any ex-boyfriends?" Andrew asked with a nervous chuckle.

"As a matter of fact I did," Buffy said. "And I just have one question for you."

"Shoot, Buffy, ask, anytime," Andrew said, more than a little flustered.

"In Rome, say two weeks ago," Buffy began, "Did you, I don't know, meet any interesting people or see any of my ex-boyfriends?"

"Buffy, oh, Buffy," Andrew said, laughing in that nervous way again. "I, ah…okay, you caught me."

"You bet I did," Buffy said.

"So, you and Spike…?" Andrew asked, hopefulness in his tone.

"Are none of your weird little business," Buffy said quickly. "By the way, he told me something about you, actually. And him. And Angel. In Rome. Don't worry, he just mentioned it in passing, probably doesn't even remember telling me. But I remember hearing it, Andrew."

Andrew made a frightened little squeak, which quickly became a whine. "It's not my fault that it was a bust. I thought it would be romantic so I embellished a little. And, let's be honest, who would make a better romantic rival than the Immortal. I mean, have you seen his shoulders? Broad."

That one seemed to throw Buffy for a loop. "Excuse me? Andrew it was only my second date with the guy. What the hell did you—?" Buffy shook off her confusion, looking half embarrassed that Willow and Xander were watching her with careful, amused expressions. "Get to the point Andrew."

"Right, so, my plan," Andrew said and cleared his throat. His voice lowered dramatically. "Spike would think you were in the arms of another man and be filled with the rage of a scorned lover."

"You hear that, Willow?" Xander asked. "Buffy scorned him."

Willow gasped in mock surprise. "Buffy, how could you? You cruel heartless trollop."

"Can we forget my trollop-hood momentarily?" Buffy asked.

"Well, then he would sweep you off your feet and you'd be so happy to see him alive again that you two could ride off into the sunset," Andrew finished. He paused a moment and added, "Maybe on a horse."

Willow teetered and Buffy shot her a glare. Xander was biting his lip hard to keep from laughing.

"That way there wouldn't be any pointless dialogue," Andrew prompted. "You could, you know, live happily ever after."

Willow thought her ribs might crack from the desperate need to laugh out loud.

"Andrew, that's almost sweet," Buffy said, genuinely touched. Willow raised an eyebrow. Buffy stopped and shook her head. "Hold on. No, that's crazy. You lied to me. And your insane-o plan didn't even take."

"I know," Andrew said. "I was really disappointed. I even tried again, back at your apartment, with him and Angel. You should have been there, I was like 'Buffy loves you both'. Can you believe they were both like, 'okay'? They didn't even fight. I was expecting a much more aggressive display of, um, masculinity."

"Your brain seems like a very strange place to live. Did anyone ever tell you that?" Buffy said. She glanced at Willow and Xander with a sigh and lowered her voice. "This is not the time or place, but…why didn't you just tell me he was alive?"

"And ruin a perfectly good story just waiting to be told?" Andrew said, as if it were obvious. "It would have been boring. I was trying to, you know, keep things interesting."

"Andrew, you can't just mess with people's lives like that. I swear, sometimes I crave a little boring," Buffy said. She rubbed the line that had formed between her brows and exhaled shakily. "Just give the phone back to Giles."

"Wait!"

Giles's voice was barely audible in the background. "Oh, for the love of…"

"Just, tell me one thing," Andrew said. "Are you two…did it work out?"

"I don't know. Guys?" Buffy asked, turning to Xander and Willow. "Do meddlesome watchers-to-be get the inside scoop on my love life?"

"I'll answer that one with a vehement 'no'," Xander said.

Andrew made a strangled choking noise on the other end.

"He sounds pretty desperate," Willow said, only half-kidding. "Just tell him, Buffy."

"Okay, then. We're fine," Buffy said, her voice a bit too clipped. "Things are fine."

Andrew didn't seem to notice her tone. "Thank goodness, for a minute you had me worried there, Buffy. I mean, I thought that—"

"Give it here," Giles said, sounding less than happy. "Is everyone caught up? Have a good social hour? Excellent. Now, if we can move from personal romances onto the important things, such as escaping the artificial dimension you're trapped in, let's get started. Buffy."

"What? Oh, yeah, Giles. Go ahead," Buffy told him.

"You should patrol, search for where this demon may have entered. There could be signs, um, perhaps a line of sulfuric material, or burns, or um, perhaps symbols carved into the ground and buildings nearby" Giles instructed.

"On it," Buffy replied.

"Willow, go with her," Giles said.

"What about me?" Xander asked.

"I want you to stay here," Buffy said before Giles or Xander could get a word out. "Take care of Dawn."

"I'm going to shut the phone off, preserve my battery," Willow stated.

"Yes," Giles said, though Willow could tell he was reluctant to go. "That's probably for the best."

"Bye, Giles," Xander said.

"We'll miss you," Willow added. "And I'll call you soon. I've still got about five hours left on it."

Giles laughed.

"Bye, Giles," Buffy said quietly.

With that he was gone and Willow was shutting off the phone.

"Buffy, you think we should…?" Willow asked.

Buffy looked troubled, withdrawn. "Oh, yeah, let's go."

Xander stood and gathered up their dishes. "I'm gonna find Dawnie, see if she wants to help with research or play cards or something."

"Thanks, Xander," Buffy said.

"Come on, we should go," Willow told her.

* * *

The sun was still bright overhead, red as blood, as Buffy lead Willow through the streets of Los Angeles. Buffy disliked the way it painted the city she knew so well into unfamiliar colors and shadows, distorting something that was so much a part of her into a cruel caricature of itself.

"This place is…holy frijoles," Willow said. "I thought it was bad enough seeing it from inside"

"I know," Buffy replied. Her mind was troubled, cloudy and dark. She turned on Wilshire. "He jumped us over here."

They headed for the corner, the smashed and ruined walk sign was still in the same state, the demons body lay to the side.

"Looks like the fight got big and scary quick," Willow commented.

"It kind of did," Buffy agreed quietly, her mind flashing as she stared at the dead creature before them. _If I had been just a second too slow... _

"We should follow the street back, check for footprints and other damage," Willow said.

They headed off down Wilshire.

"So, you really think you can get us home the same way big, bad, and ugly got in?" Buffy asked.

"Well, I've got to try, don't I?" Willow asked. Buffy merely nodded. "Hey, Buffy, don't take this the wrong way or anything, but is everything all right?"

Buffy bristled and shook it off with a smile. "Course it is. Why wouldn't it be?"

Willow frowned and glanced around at their surroundings pointedly.

"Well, um, yes, there's that," Buffy agreed. "Hell place is definitely of the bad. But, um, other than this interdimensional stuff, I think I'm good."

"Again, I ask for no wrong-way-taking, but you don't _seem_ good," Willow said. "You seem…I don't know, kind of…Do you want to talk about it? Because I might have to play the best friend card if you don't start talking soon."

Buffy sighed. "No, it's just…this. Everything. It's all hitting me at once."

"How so?" Willow asked.

Buffy caught sight of boot-prints of grey dirt on the asphalt. They turned to follow them, walking beneath the rain worn awning of a burger restaurant, momentarily shielded from the blinding red glare.

"It's like, first I see Angel again, which is weird enough by itself. So I decide, no more Angel meetings ever again for Buffy, because of more reasons than I could name or really start explaining. Then, look, my ex is back from the dead and we sort of pick up where we left off in the middle of The Apocalypse, because, God, Will, I want this to work so badly and hey, no time like the present."

"Do you guys have any…issues still intact?" Willow asked.

"Kind of, sometimes," Buffy agreed softly. She shook herself out of it and continued. "Then Cordelia pops up out of nowhere, I'm stuck inside a hotel with so many people that it's like _my house _from last year, we finally get running water, and if I don't get out of here soon, I might explode. Just, boom, bits of Buffy all over the everywhere."

"Ah, poor Buffy, feeling explody," Willow said.

"I know," Buffy agreed with enthusiasm, going into vent-mode. "Oh, and don't even get me started on the demon."

"What about the demon?" Willow said.

"It almost…" Buffy stopped, unsure if she could admit her hesitancy, her fear. That one moment when she thought she was about to lose what she had struggled so hard to gain back. Willow gave her that silence, allowing her to gather her thoughts as the footprints changed direction. They followed them through an adjacent park, made mostly of lake and desiccated foliage. Buffy listened to the crunch of dried flowers that had fallen from the equally dead trees. Hell had killed everything.

_I won't let anyone else die here, _Buffy thought, her mind wandering back to her fallen slayers, to the sight of Spike fighting the demon. She would defend them with everything she had, even if the Partners killed her in the process. They were getting out alive.

Buffy caught a glint of something in the distance, an eyesore even in the midst of the hell that surrounded them. "What's that?"

"I don't…" Willow began and stopped. Her excitement seemed to grow and she ran forward.

Up ahead, on the side of a brick building, clearly damaged from the earthquakes and surrounded by the worst cracks yet, a symbol was painted of three sharp strokes, two up, one down. The paint that had made them was dark, chipped, and fading, as if it had been there for years.

"Will, what is it?" Buffy asked, a shiver running down her spine.

Willow seemed to not hear her, she stepped closer, carefully avoiding the jagged and broken asphalt.

"There's deep mystical convergence here," Willow said. "It's like nothing I've ever felt."

"What's with the symbol?" Buffy asked.

"It's old, ancient Sumerian maybe. I'm not sure," Willow mused, running her fingers through the air around the symbol, searching for something. She stopped and turned to Buffy. "I know what it is though. This is huge."

"Why? What does it do?" Buffy asked.

"It's going to get us out of here."

* * *

Were they really home free? Buffy wondered, mulling it over in her mind on the walk back to the Hyperion. Willow certainly thought so, but how could they be sure?

The first thing Willow did upon their arrival back was pull Buffy back to her suite where the book waited. Willow proceeded to flip through page upon page of _Interdimensional Travels_, searching for the right paragraph.

"Ha!" Willow exclaimed, handing the book to Buffy. "Am I good or am I good?"

Buffy grinned as she saw a similar symbol within the book. Three lines, two upstrokes, one down, the only difference was small thorn-like flourishes along the edges.

"It's a pretty close match," Buffy said.

"All this time I was looking in the wrong section of the book," Willow said. "I thought I would need to tear reality, but this reality is already torn. Do you follow?"

"I think so."

"This symbol, the one in my book, is a part of a spell to open a portal in Sri Lanka to other dimensions. It's in a place where reality runs thin, a lot like this. So I guess it's more like a key in a lock than a tear in the fabric of a universe," Willow explained.

"Okay, still following," Buffy said.

"There's a ritual, its fuzzy in the details and really complex, but I think I could pull it off because that place is already so broken. The energy there, it felt really loosely stitched together," Willow explained. "Although the spell fades fast. We'll have to move if we want everyone to get out. I have a feeling that if we can repaint the symbol with the correct flourishes, the reverse of the entrance spell, we can unlock the portal to _our_ world instead of theirs and escape. Turn the key the other way."

"And you really think you can use it to get us back home?" Buffy asked. "You're sure, Will?"

"Yes," Willow confirmed. "If we can get out before the Partners come through, maybe we can seal them in."

"God, I hope so. This is great, it's really, really great," Buffy said. "I'll mobilize the girls, get ready for whatever's coming for us. So, when's this going down?"

"After sunrise," Willow explained, scanning the paragraph again. "After the rising of first light. That's what the book says in any case."

"Okay, then tomorrow. Tomorrow morning, we're getting out of here."

* * *

"Hey," Buffy said, entering the room that she and Spike had made their own. Her thoughts were heavy and overwhelmed. She lingered in the doorway a moment, just watching him.

"Hey yourself," Spike replied.

He was digging through his duster pockets and pulled out a crumbled pack of cigarettes. Spike opened the pack, peered inside and groaned.

"The sooner we get out of here the better," he said.

"Waterlogged?" Buffy asked.

"Unfortunately so," Spike replied. He dug one out of the pack, brown and wrinkled from the rainwater, and stared at it in contemplation.

"You gonna smoke that?" Buffy asked, crinkling her nose.

Spike sighed and pushed it back in the pack, tucking it away in his pocket. "Only if I'm really desperate."

Buffy dropped the scythe with her other weapons and moved to curl up in the chair by the window. Gee, they had really started to nest in this little hotel suite. But Buffy didn't want to nest, Buffy wanted to go home, to get away from this place as fast as she possibly could. And they were so close. So close she could taste it. They would escape tomorrow. The thought was daunting, so much so that she just wanted to curl up, let him hold her, and forget it all until morning. She couldn't allow herself that luxury.

"I want to talk to you," Buffy said.

"Listening, pet."

"Right," Buffy said. She clasped her hands in her lap, tracing patterns on her own skin, trying to alleviate her fear. "Here goes…"

Spike looked troubled as he sat across from her at the end of the bed. It was as if she had given him candy and couldn't wait to snatch it away. That look broke her heart.

"What is it?" he asked her quietly, as if expecting the worst.

Buffy sighed, searching for the right words. She leaned across the gap between them and gave his hand a gentle squeeze. "I want you in my life."

Spike tilted his head, trying to decipher her meaning. He wove his fingers through hers, unwilling to break contact.

"Please," Buffy continued and sighed, "don't just go away again."

"I wouldn't," Spike protested before she could go on.

"I mean it," Buffy said, her voice measured and calm. "I do."

"You hear me arguing?" he asked.

"No," Buffy replied, not quite able to meet his eyes, and muttered, "And you wouldn't."

"Buffy, what's this about?" Spike asked.

"Willow and I found a way to get us out of here, tomorrow morning," Buffy explained, not quite meeting his eyes as he stared at her in surprise.

"We're going to open a portal, using a symbol as a key. There's a ritual and it has to be done at sunrise. I'm going out last," she continued. "I've already decided. There's a limited time for this spell to work and if any demons come through, I should be here to fight them. I want to make sure that everyone gets out safely. Original Slayer sense of responsibility and all that stuff. I've got it planned out. Willow and I, we talked it over."

Spike wrinkled his brow. "No arguments here. I'll stay, wait with you, maybe get a decent brawl out of it."

"No, I want you to…" she began and stopped, steeling herself for what she was about to say. He still looked confused, uncertain. _Doesn't he understand that I can't lose him? _Buffy thought.

"Buffy, what is it?"

"I want you to be one of the first out."


	15. Chapter 15

**Disclaimer: **The Buffyverse and all of its inhabitants belong to Joss and Mutant Enemy.

* * *

"No." Spike protested automatically.

Buffy bit back the urge to make him see. She sat silent, her face serene, calm. Inside she was panicking.

"No way in hell is that happening. "He stood and paced, his fingers making a messy path through his hair.

"The girls are slayers. They can take care of themselves. And Dawn and Xander still driving the injured out in the van before anyone else. I want you to go with them," Buffy said, trying her best to keep herself calm. _If I flip, he won't even listen to me_. Her voice softened even further. "I'll be here to make sure that everyone else gets out all right."

"Oh, look another good reason to stay," Spike said with a small gesture of frustration.

"Spike, please—"

"Say you're right," he interrupted. "Say we get attacked by a whole mass of hell raisers while pulling our escape act. Do you honestly think that I could go back to L.A. knowing that you were here facing that?"

"No," Buffy said, shaking her head. Her voice was stuck in her throat, choking her. "I knew you wouldn't want to, but that isn't my point."

"And I don't want to know what is," Spike said. "This isn't happening."

"God, why won't you just listen to me on this one?" Buffy asked desperately, standing along with him. "Spike, it's not safe here."

"Yeah, I know, it's a mini-hell dimension or what have you," he said, his flippancy driving her mad. "Wouldn't expect the fire marshal to give it a green light."

"You were almost killed today," Buffy protested in a dark voice.

"So? I'm almost killed all the time. It's never been a problem before. Besides, you helped me out in a pinch and you will if I'm in another one," he said, his voice gentling. "And I help you. We take care of each other and we take care of ourselves. Isn't that the way this works?"

"I don't know anymore," Buffy said with a shake of her head. "I just can't…"

"You can't what, Buffy?"

Buffy crossed her arms, her emotions bottled inside of her and capped with an expressionless face.

"You've thrown me for a loop, pet. I don't have any idea what's going on inside that head of yours," Spike said. He came closer, one hand rising to touch her cheek. She stiffened beneath his fingertips, but he didn't pull away.

"I told you," Buffy insisted, struggling to keep a grip on her calm. "It's not safe…oh, and the sun. The sun will be out…"

"Angel and I can swing something, I'm sure. Blankets maybe," Spike said. His hands rose to uncross her rigid arms, fingers entwining at their sides. Despite Buffy's better efforts, she melted into him. God he felt good, so solid and present against her body, fitting perfectly to her. Buffy rested her cheek against him with a half involuntary sigh. "If that's it…"

"No," Buffy said. When she raised her eyes to meet his, she knew they were tearful and cursed herself. She hadn't intended to show any of her fear, her desperation. "No, please. Go first."

He frowned and pulled away. Buffy nearly cried out at the lack of closeness but held onto her calm by a thread. Her arms wrapped around her middle, fingers arched and digging into her skin. She moved back to her chair and sat, still holding herself together.

"Spike, please," Buffy said once more, her voice hoarse and anxious, "I can't take it again."

When he didn't reply, she continued.

"If you died and there was anything I could have done to stop it, I'd never forgive myself," she said. Spike's brow furrowed as Buffy's hand rose to her face. She bit her index knuckle, stroked her lower lip. "I still haven't…"

"No," Spike murmured, shaking his head, "No, sweetheart."

Buffy was shaking, she bit her knuckle once more, harder this time in an attempt to stop the tremors. It left a pink indent, blood pooling beneath her skin.

"Last year…I wanted to do it, to stay, to finish off the ubervamps. I told you as much," Spike said. He knelt before her and caught her wrist, lowering her hand.

"I know," Buffy replied, allowing a flicker of emotion to pass over her face. That single second had his expression softening, the grip on her wrist went from constricting to tender, his thumb rubbing soft circles. It made her crack a smile. "I was so proud of you."

It may have sounded silly, clichéd even. But, God, that look on his face as she told him, let him hear that small measure of praise, Buffy knew she couldn't have phrased it better.

"But after…" Buffy said, not quite looking at him. "I just kind of...cracked. For a little while, anyway."

Spike frowned. "You looked happy, in Rome."

"I was getting there," Buffy said with a humorless smile. "I finally got to try out being _Buffy_ again. Normal, cheerleader, high school Buffy. Just like I wanted. But, I'm not in high school anymore. I'm a grown up. Somehow, when I figured out that I was so far gone from who I used to be—which isn't necessarily a _bad _thing_—_it took some of the nostalgic charm out of it." Buffy took a deep breath and continued. "I was normal and you were gone. Things didn't really make sense anymore."

Spike raised her wrist to his mouth with a shake of his head, a grave expression on his face. She found herself shaking again as he pressed his lips to her pulse point with a smile, as if he enjoyed the thundering beat of it against his lips.

"God…" Buffy sighed, trying to keep her mind focused on what she was saying. Her fingers, unwittingly, made a path through his hair, dragging him closer in a desperate plea to be touched. She shuddered and admitted quietly, "I had nightmares for months."

Spike dropped her wrist and raised a hand to her hair. Buffy nuzzled it as his fingers fell to her cheekbone, turning her head to kiss his palm.

"No need for nightmares," he whispered.

"But I should have stayed," Buffy admitted, pulling away from the hypnotic feel of his mouth to meet his eyes. "In the Hellmouth. You were dying and I just...I froze," she admitted in a small voice. "I should have stayed with you and done _something_."

Spike started. Buffy wasn't sure if he was pleased or unhappy.

He shook his head. "No, you shouldn't have. I made my choice. No use looking back on what could have been and trying to change it. That kind of thinking makes you crazy. I should know."

"Right, you know guilt beyond human measure," Buffy said. "I forget sometimes."

"I don't dwell on it. I'm not bloody Angel, love."

Buffy's expression became sarcastically serious. "No, _nothing_ at _all_ like Angel. Completely different with no discernible similarities."

"Damn right," Spike replied with a soft growl. He grinned under her mocking gaze. "I'm just saying, all you can do is move forward."

Buffy nodded in silent agreement. Before she could stop herself, she asked hopefully, "But will you…?"

"No," Spike insisted. "I'll be with you until the sodding end."

"There's no arguing with you on this, is there?" Buffy said, exhaling shakily in defeat.

"Well no," Spike agreed. "I suppose there isn't."

Buffy sighed. "Promise me one thing."

"No promises until I know what I'm agreeing to," Spike protested.

"Fair enough," Buffy said. She wouldn't be able to get him to go, she knew it now. Buffy fought her instinctual stubbornness and swallowed her pride. She trusted him.

"Promise me that, whatever happens to us out there, that you'll take care of yourself tomorrow," she whispered.

Spike nodded. "Always do, pet…"

"I mean it, don't be a bonehead," she instructed.

"Please," Spike scoffed. "When have I done that?"

Buffy laughed, more relief than anything else, rubbing her eyes, fingers combing through her hair.

"Anything could happen," she mused.

"And anything couldn't," Spike replied. "Love, you've got to stop worrying about the worst."

"I have to think about it," Buffy replied. When Spike still seemed to want to protest, Buffy continued, "I'm like a first class worrier. World renowned, even, with the Olympic gold in worrying. The levels of responsibility that I deal with on a daily basis make being on a bomb squad look like a walk through a Zen garden. Yeah, I do and say the things that no one else can, but I _think_ the things no one else will either."

"Buffy…"

"I just wish," Buffy let out a small laugh. "I just wish that, for _once_, someone would tell me what's going to happen. A clue or something…"

Spike caught her chin between his fingers before she could blink. His eyes bore into hers with an intensity that was almost angry, but his voice was soft and careful. "You listen to me. You are getting out of this place safe and sound, in one single gorgeous piece. You're going to go home and curl up in your warm little bed. And this is all going to be a bad memory. You are going home, Buffy."

"You _are_ my home," Buffy whispered with downcast eyes, but rose a hand to his cheek. She knew she had a flair for the melodramatic and paused, afraid for one mad moment that he might laugh. She wasn't prepared for his reaction.

Spike blinked and turned his head to kiss her fingertips, holding back fresh tears. He managed a sniff and a smile and met her eyes. "Guess you're already there then."

Buffy laughed. She rested her head against his collar-bone and sighed, curling her fingers in the soft cotton of his shirt.

"Why did I ever think it was a good idea to stay away from you?"

She could hear the grin in his voice. His arms encircled her.

"You do understand you're stuck with me now? Call me Glue Girl, then insert a 'Super' in front of that name," Buffy said.

Spike nodded against her hair in agreement. "Buffy?"

"Yeah?"

"What's going to happen after?" he asked her quietly.

Buffy frowned and sat on the edge of the bed. "I didn't really think about it. I mean, I was pretty much positive that I was going to die. I thought that The Apocalypse would be more…apocalypsy."

"Yeah, same here," Spike said, sitting beside her. He hesitated then said, "Stay with me."

"In L.A.?" Buffy asked, unable to keep that note of surprise from her voice.

"No. No way in buggering hell am I ever coming back here again," Spike replied.

"Can't say I disagree with you," Buffy said. Her voice softened, "Where then?"

"Anywhere. Rome, if you want."

Buffy frowned. "Maybe, I hadn't really thought about it."

"But you will…?" Spike began.

"Stay with you,? Yeah, I will," Buffy finished for him.

The way he kissed her was mind numbing, all-consuming, happy and warm. It was a different kind of kiss than any she had experienced with him. Buffy grinned against his lips, her hands finding his and pushing him down into the softness of the mattress. Her grip on his wrists was gentle, a barely there pressure holding them lightly as her legs folded on either side of his hips. This wasn't the frenzy they'd had after her return from the grave, the carefulness he had shown her the night before the Hellmouth, or the desperation to touch that had consumed them upon their reunion.

This was new.

* * *

Angel sighed and relaxed in his office chair. Everything felt so absolutely _right_, for the first time in a long while. Cordelia was sitting beside him, her hand on his back, her head on his shoulder as he leafed through an endless pile of documents he had all but forgotten about, laughing and frowning at the memories he found there. Cases from his past were like old friends, familiar and innocent, reminding him of the good man he had strived to be. The good man he could still become. Everything surrounding him, it gave him hope.

The soft tinkling of a lamp breaking rang out from above, followed by a low moan, a sharp cry.

"Somebody's having fun up there," Cordelia observed dryly. "Too much fun, cause, honestly, they're ruining some high quality vintage furniture."

Angel grimaced at the noise, his hearing even sharper than her own. Even though it was dulled by the thick wood floor, Angel knew who was causing the destruction. "If those two don't stop, I'm going to sit them down like they're…horny teenagers."

Cordelia rolled her eyes. "You are seriously starting to show your age_."_

Angel frowned and touched his jaw.

"Verbally," Cordelia said. "I mean, lighten up a little. Let them have their happy time."

Angel's eyes were sad when they met hers and found the same look of desperation, of longing there. Couldn't she see how envious he was of them? Of the things they had that he could never, ever risk?

"I'm happy that they're happy," Angel said and paused. "Okay, I'm _tolerant _that they're happy." He paused and added, "I did give my blessing you know."

"Your blessing," Cordelia repeated, the corners of her mouth turning up, mocking him.

"Yeah, I—what?" he asked.

Cordelia shrugged. "So to date anyone who isn't you, Buffy needs your...blessing?"

Angel furrowed his brow. "I didn't mean that _exactly_."

"You know she's a big girl, right?" Cordelia asked. "She doesn't need you to look over her shoulder to meet new boyfriends with a baseball bat, photocopying the poor guy's ID."

It was awkward, hearing her dissect his feelings and ringing so true.

"Hey, when did I start acting like Buffy's father?" Angel asked her in disgusted surprise and lowered his voice, "That's oddly creepy."

"You don't act like her father, you act like her...keeper," Cordelia said, unable to find a better word. "The granter of permission, the giver of blessings. Her keeper."

"Okay, if anything, I'm Spike's keeper, not hers," Angel protested.

Cordelia shook her head. "Whatever you say."

"Hey, I am _not_ jealous," Angel protested. He knew what she was thinking, but he was only thinking of her. His voice softened as he caught her hand. "It's just, I wish that…"

Cordelia squeezed his shoulder and kissed his cheek softly. "It's okay."

Something in her voice only enhanced a strange poignant sorrow. He had her, but he didn't have her, in more ways than their physical limitations.

"Am I interrupting?"

"Willow," Angel said. Cordelia moved away from him slowly as the witch entered the room. Angel winced at the loss of her warmth against him. "Come in."

Willow nodded and moved to sit in the chair before his desk. Cordelia chose the spot behind him, her hands descended on Angel's shoulders with a reassuring squeeze.

"Maybe it's just my spectacular insight, but you look so cheerful its kind of painful to watch," Cordelia observed. "What's up?"

"Big humungo news," Willow said. "Buffy and I found the way out."

Cordelia's grip on his shoulders loosened and she took a step back. "You sure?" she whispered.

"Yeah, positive," Willow agreed. "Tomorrow morning, we're going to open a tear the dimensional fabric and skip on through. We've got it all planned out. What to do in case of demons, how we're taking out the injured girls, all of it."

"Willow that's…" Angel began, unable to find the words.

"Amazing," Willow finished for him.

"Pretty much," Angel agreed, reaching behind him for Cordy, only she wasn't there. He turned in his chair. Cordelia was only a few paces away, her expression unreadable.

"Anyway," Willow continued as if nothing were amiss, "the spell's a smidge on the difficult side, but it should still be easy as pie. It'll just be homemade pie instead of the frozen instant kind that I had my fingers crossed for."

"Yeah," Angel said, barely able to wrench his eyes from Cordy and back to Willow. "Pie is…pie."

"And all of it easy," Willow finished. She glanced at Cordelia. "So, do you want me to fill you in now…or?"

Angel shook his head. "Actually, Willow, could you come back? Later, I mean."

"Sure, I still need to tell the girls. I already told Dawnie and Xander. Buffy's telling Spike right now."

"Yeah, he seems…enthused about it," Angel said, wincing when he heard another soft groan.

Willow bit her lip. "Um, I'll just go. Spread the good news. I'll be back later then."

With that Willow was leaving. The moment she was out of sight, Angel turned to Cordelia.

"Cordy?" he asked softly.

"Hmm?"

He approached her with caution, a carefulness he rarely needed to use with her.

"What is it?" Angel finally asked, raising a hand to brush back her bangs.

"Nothing," Cordelia replied with a shuddering sigh.

That was definitely not nothing.

"Come on, this is good news. At least give me a smile," Angel said, grinning himself to encourage her.

"That is blatant manipulation, buddy. I love it when you do that and you know it," she criticized, her hands finding the collar of his jacket and straightening it.

"So do I. With you, I mean," he said, unable to stop smiling now that he'd started. "Return the favor."

Cordelia's lower lip trembled, but she cracked a slow grin. Angel frowned in response and caressed her mouth with the pad of his thumb.

"I should—" Cordelia began. She cleared her throat and met his eyes with a terrible, grave look. "I should tell you something."

Angel nodded, running his fingertips along the smooth skin of her cheekbone. "I'm all ears."

Cordelia twisted her hands together in an anxious tangle, her nerves practically thrumming. "Angel, I'm scared."

"Don't be," he instructed. "Everything will be fine, I promise. We'll all be fine."

She shook her head. "I mean it. God, I'm so scared. I can hardly think, I can hardly—" Cordelia froze and grimaced her fingers rising to her temples. "Huh, that was weird…"

"What is it?" Angel asked.

She rubbed her temples slowly. "I felt like—"

Cordelia whimpered, her knees buckling.

"Cordy?" Angel asked.

"Ow," she murmured, her hands pressed flat to her forehead. "I haven't felt this since—"

Cordelia seized up with a convulsion that had her whole body taut, agonized. She screwed her eyes shut with a soft moan of pain.

"Come on, Cordy," Angel said desperately, frozen, unsure of whether or not he could touch her. Her eyes met his momentarily, confused, pained, horrified before screwing shut once more. "Willow!"

Cordelia's fingers curled at her sides, clawing the air as a whimper escaped her mouth. Just as quickly as she tensed, she fell, a limp heap on the ground.

Angel dropped to his knees as Cordelia sat up. A scream choked in her throat. Angel wrapped his arms around her before he could stop himself, cradling her against him. She writhed, clutching at her arms and stomach. He just held on.

"Cordelia, God, what's happening?" Angel whispered, pushing the hair back from her forehead.

She moaned and shook her head, fingers digging into her skin as she rocked herself through the agony.

"Shh," he said and pressed a kiss against the crown of her head. "Willow's coming back. She'll come back. Somebody will . We're going to make you better."

"I don't…" Cordelia managed. "What's happening to me? My visions haven't felt like this since…"

"I've got you, you're gonna be okay," Angel assured her softly. "We just need help…"

"It was a mistake," Cordelia groaned, pressing her face into the crook of his neck. It was wet with tears. "I should have died. I should have died with my body…"

"No," Angel protested roughly, shaking his head. "It wasn't a mistake. It was a miracle. Cordelia, I need you to hold on for me."

He shouted Buffy's name this time. Spike's. Anyone who was listening. His desperation was interrupted by another scream as she clutched at her head. Cordelia choked and coughed. Blood splattered on Angel's shirt, a few drops landing across his face. He could feel himself breaking.

"You'll be fine…you've just got to—Buffy!" he yelled again. "Xander!"

But he had tasted her blood on his mouth as he spoke. She didn't taste human, or dead. She was something else, something ethereal contained in the mask of a mortal. She also tasted breakable. She was a spirit, a consciousness, the entirety of one's being in an astral body. An illusion of a body. If she died, Angel had terrible thought that all of her would. Destroyed forever, like Fred was, but with no fragments left behind.

"Will it stop soon? Cause, I've got one hell of a migraine," Cordelia asked weakly, daring to smile before another wave hit her.

"Of course it will," Angel replied, pressing his cheek into her hair. Though she may be made of something different, she smelled the same, she spoke the same, and her heartbeat was there, a familiar cadence, quickened slightly with her pain.

"Liar," she whispered. She rubbed her temples. "God, nothing's coming through clearly, it's just all these images...don't make sense."

Angel's face darkened. "Cordy, I just want you to know—"

"What?" she asked. "Is this the part where you tell me you saw me and realized you loved me again? Comfort for the dying, astral…thing?"

"I never stopped loving you," Angel admitted quietly. "I could never stop loving you."

"Keep going. Sweet talk will get you everywhere," she said, but was interrupted when she grasped her head in her hands with the worst convulsion yet. The wracking of her body was slowing until it was a mere dull trembling. Angel could feel her heartbeat slow to its regular beat.

"Cordelia?"

When her eyes opened, they were wide and glassy. "They're coming. On the dawning of the third morn. What does that—?"

"What?" Angel asked. "Cordelia, what did you see?"

"Demons, prying apart the gates of Hell," she said. He tried to meet her eyes, but it was as if she were looking through him. She snapped back to reality. "Angel, I saw—"

"The Senior Partners?" Angel asked in a horrified whisper.

"Yes," Cordelia breathed and fell limp in his arms.

"What is it?" Buffy asked from the doorway. She struggled to keep the Hyperion robe tight around her as she ran into the room with what seemed to be the entire hotel's population on her heels. Spike stood behind her, shirtless, and fumbling with his belt buckle. Angel wrenched his eyes away from the crowd to stare down at Cordelia, she looked peaceful as if sleeping.

"Angel?" Willow asked, dropping down beside him and touched his shoulder.

He turned to her, desperation etched in his face.

Illyria stepped forth and appraised them with a look that could have been vaguely like pity. "She is fading. She is rooted to this plane and it is leeching her."

"What?" Angel asked her. "What does that...?"

Illyria's eyes raked over them again and flickered with that same look, that almost-sympathy. "It would destroy you if she were destroyed. Decimate you."

"Yes," Angel confirmed in a whisper.

Illyria only responded with a nod. She understood him, somehow she did.

Willow reached around him to feel Cordelia's throat. She smiled. "See, Angel? She fainted, she'll be okay." Willow caught his hand and guided it to Cordelia's wrist. "Feel."

Her pulse was weak, but present. She was still alive. Angel breathed out in useless, but shaky relief.

"She's going to be okay," Willow repeated softly, soothing him. "What happened to her?"

"Willow, how soon until sunrise?" Angel asked, ignoring the question.

"Um, I don't know. A few hours, maybe."

"Then we don't have much time," he replied, standing and sweeping Cordelia into his arms and moving to leave. "She had a vision."

"What did she see?" Buffy asked, blocking him from walking any further so that he could speak to her and her alone. The slayers chattered in fear outside the doorway, unaware of the coming danger.

"The Partners are coming, on the dawning of the third morning. That's today," Angel muttered. "I'd say we have a couple of hours at most to prepare."

Spike stepped forward, resting a possessive hand on Buffy's shoulder. "What about princess, there?"

Angel glanced down at Cordelia and back. "I'll take care of her. You two just get ready for anything. Get weapons, get ready, and for the love of God, get dressed."

Spike just gave him a smug smile while Buffy rolled her eyes. Angel knew that the both of them were annoying her beyond belief.

Angel couldn't bring himself to care about petty rivalry, no matter how tempting it was to indulge in. A small part of him would always feel as if he lost something when he saw them like this, but he would never feel envious knowing what he had.

"There's a blade sharpener in the basement for axes and swords. Buffy?"

"Yeah."

"Upstairs, room 312, there are weapons stocked there and lots of them. Take as much as you can, get the girls armed," he said. "Spike?"

Spike raised an eyebrow.

"Talk to Willow, help her get whatever she needs for the spell. And both of you, we have to get everyone moving," he said and glanced down at Cordelia, holding her tighter instinctively. "We don't have much time."

* * *

**Author's Note: **Thanks to everyone who read and reviewed, I love hearing your thoughts and opinions about the story. Another thank you to those who followed or made this a favorite. Please read and review.


	16. Chapter 16

**Disclaimer: **It all belongs to Joss and Mutant Enemy. I'm just having fun.

**Author's Note: **I'm still teetering on the edge of upping the rating, but right now I feel it's safe for T. Thanks to all those who read and left a review followed, or made favorite. Please read and review, let me know what you think. Thanks!

* * *

Spike entered room 312. Even in the clean air far from Willow's suite, he could still smell the burning herbs she had sent him to collect from the Hyperion kitchen and some private stock in Angel's office that had belonged to Wesley. Who knew that prep for the mojo to get them out would be so pungent? He wrinkled his nose. _Magic is no breath of fresh air, _he thought, brushing at his clothes as if it would alleviate the smell of charring cloves and sage. At least they had a piece of the ritual ready, now the only thing left to do was perform it. _And escape, and tussle with some ancient demons coming to destroy all things green, grassy, or adorable. Oh, we can handle that_.

He stood in the doorway a moment and took it all in, all the insanity that had erupted since Angel's girl collapsed. The slayers ran up and down the hallways, frantic, but taut with excitement as they prepared. Spike could barely wrap his mind around what was happening. He didn't wait a moment too long. He only kept to that doorway long enough to savor a deep breath that left him craving a cigarette before venturing inside.

Buffy stood at the large wooden cabinet where the weapons were, sorting through them. She'd already arranged several piles around her and in duffel bags that her slayers had brought with them.

"You know, there's enough of the wooden and pointy here to make a fella really nervous," he said as she unloaded stakes from the lowest shelf.

Buffy dumped the remaining half-dozen in a black duffel bag and zipped it shut. "Well, that's the last of the stakey types. Nervousness be gone."

Spike grinned and joined her facing the remaining axes, swords, and crossbows. "Need some help?"

"Ugh, yes please. Angel is practically prepped for invasion. This is the artillery needed for a full-scale Armageddon. Seriously, he is packing some insane demon killing fire power. Who needs thirteen crossbows?" Buffy said and took one down to study it, her fingers ghosting over the trigger mechanism with a look of longing. "Okay, this one is amazing and gorgeous and can I steal it from him, please?"

Her eyes sparkled, half teasing, half serious. Spike smiled at her, unable to help himself.

"Well, poofter does have twelve others just like it, he won't miss this one," he said, leaning in and resting his chin on her shoulder, his arms encircling her waist. Once he was there, Spike couldn't quite resist kissing that soft, warm skin where the curve of her neck met her shoulder.

"Okay, then he's not getting it back…" Buffy said, tilting her head so he could continue planting kisses along that gorgeous skin, forgetting to reprimand him for his dig at Angel. She lolled her head back against him with an encouraging sigh.

Spike laughed in response to her words, one hand slipping beneath her top to feel the warm skin of her belly. Goosebumps followed the tracing of his hands. "I think I've been a bad influence on you."

Buffy shook her head and murmured, "Not bad."

She was moving with him now, back arched, hips stirring against his in soft undulations. Spike pulled her closer, unable to stop kissing wherever his lips could reach as his hand grew bolder beneath her shirt. His tongue darted out in a sweep of her jugular, tasting the sweetness of her skin.

Buffy turned in his arms and dragged his mouth down to meet hers, holding him there by the lapels of his duster. He knew they shouldn't, not on the verge of what they were about to face, but it felt so damnably incredible. Spike didn't want to stop.

"Buffy," he was able to say between kisses. "Now's probably not the best time—"

She shook her head and grasped for his fly without breaking the kiss. "Might be the last time…"

She was right. It was ill-timed and unplanned, but she was right. _If it's the last time, then bugger logic, _he thought, his body, his heart, in complete anarchy from his mind. Spike found himself fumbling with her jeans, his hands at the backs of her thighs, lifting her body up the length of his and as she hooked a leg around him.

It was quick, almost frantic, half against the hotel wall. The only sounds were of harsh panting, of moving together. She pushed his shirt up so she could touch him, the straps of her tank top loose around her shoulders. Spike prolonged it as long as he could. She finished before he did and he followed moments after, sliding down the wall to sit together on the floor.

Spike wanted it to be good for her, to be memorable. He had wanted to make her tremble and sigh, to kiss and lick every beautiful inch of her body before making love to her. But they hadn't the time. So he took a moment sitting slumped against that wall to stroke her hair, to kiss her forehead, to make her feel treasured as they straightened their clothes, fumbling with zippers and pant legs.

Buffy looked up at him and smiled, her breathing calm and slow, happy. "Your roots are starting to show. Just a little bit."

Spike shrugged and played with her own blond strands as she lay back against his side. He frowned in reluctance. "God, the last sodding thing I want to do is get up. The burden of being bloody responsible types."

"Part of me just wants to say 'Apocalypse be damned'," Buffy said, pressing her face into his shoulder. Her hand rested on his chest and it took Spike a moment to realize that his shirt was still pushed up. "Are we terrible people?"

"No, pet," Spike replied and sat up fully, bringing her with him as she made small noises of unwillingness. "We stole our little allotted moment."

"Can we bend that rule?" Buffy asked. "Just this once? I want to waste time the way people waste paper and then lie and say I recycle. Besides, in our personal scenario, we're only wasting metaphoric analogy type trees. We could just stay here, all warm and cozy. Just for a minute…"

"I'm not warm," he protested, grasping her shoulders to study her with a mocking glint in his eye. "So boo on you then."

"No," Buffy agreed and wrapped her arms around his middle and resting her head on his bare chest. "But you're cozy. I just want one minute. That's it. Then we can go back out to the craziness that is our lives, okay? Just give me sixty seconds of this, please."

"Okay," he murmured.

That warmth that she nuzzled him with was incredible, perfect. Spike allowed them to have that minute, just a minute.

Spike almost told her about the Shanshu, about what could happen, what could change for them. The things he could give her. Unwittingly, he wondered what it would feel like. The thought of blood pumping through his body again was a strange one, both enticing and daunting. Spike knew he could stay strong, figure something out if the humanity inference about the prophecy were true, not just the living part. _Living as what? _he wondered.

Before, with Angel, wanting the prophecy had meant wanting to win, to finally beat him at this one little thing. Now, with Buffy, thinking about the life he could give her—the life they could _have—_he wanted it for a different reason entirely. _But it won't be me, _Spike thought, _it'll be Angel. It's always Angel._ It wasn't any good to get her worked up about what would never be.

The sight of Buffy against him, her hair rumpled and tangled, the straps of that tank top pushed down, and the feeling of her mouth pressing kisses on his chest had Spike wondering if it was always Angel after all.

_I'm this girl's home, _Spike thought as he ran his fingers through her hair,_ God, I love her. _He had never felt precious to her. Convenient, once upon a time, cared for, yes, but to be cherished by her, protected and warm and loved, it was new. It was wonderful.

"I love you," she whispered, kissing his jaw, cradling his face.

After years of waiting for an opportunity to use the words, he answered her just as softly, "And I love you too."

Spike dropped a kiss on top of her head and struggled out of her arms with more reluctance than he could voice. "Come on, lamb. I want to go save the world."

* * *

Xander stood outside, darkness still all around, as Dawn loaded up the car with supplies for the injured girls. This way, even if they lost, they would be cared for in the moments before the end, comfortable and safe. _I always knew I'd fight in the Big One, ever since the drowning and the resuscitation and Batface becoming vamp bones, I always knew. _

"There we go," Dawn said, shutting the latch of the car trunk. "That's enough pillows to build forts for every kid in the state and you are looking at the girl who gathered them all. Come on, who's the man?"

Xander grinned. "You, the pillow gathering man to end all pillow gathering men."

"Do you think this is enough?" Dawn asked, serious this time.

"Dawn, we have enough pillows, blankets, water, bandages, and assorted snack foods to distract even the most pain wracked of slayers from a possible hell battle end of the world scenario."

"I just want to be sure. We have to fit nine of them, and Spike, I guess."

"Nope," Xander replied with a shake of his head. _Like Buffy really thought that would work out_. "The Spike thing's a no go."

"Gotcha," Dawn said, obviously unsurprised. "Now all we need is weapons and we're good to go."

"And we need to get Willow's magic stuff all loaded up," Xander reminded her.

"Oh yeah," Dawn said. Her voice was soft, haunted. She started as if surprised. "Oh, look, I have actual goosebumps."

"Yeah, I've been getting those lately," Xander replied. "First it was like, wow, we're in hell."

"I know, and then wham, another wow, we're going to be fighting these unstoppable evil demon creepies in two hours or less," Dawn answered, rubbing her arms. "Then presto, goosebumps abound."

"That's a pretty good slogan," Xander mused and snapped his fingers. "Hey, if we lose, do you think the lawyer demons would let us work for them and sell it? Fear striking goosebumps on all innocent skin?"

"No," Dawn said.

"Why not, that's a brilliant marketing plan for fear!"

"Because they're lawyers and that's _marketing_," Dawn said, "but if you wanted to get into that realm of the business world, they could represent you."

"I like the way you think, Dawnie," Xander replied. "You both fixed an error to cover up my lack of business knowledge and created a backup plan in the same sentence for if we lose. We'll go into demonic marketing in our post apocalyptic world."

"Hey guys," Willow said, walking toward them from the shadows of the dead trees, her feet padding softly, crunching dried leaves that littered the hotel entrance. She held a small cardboard box in her arms. The smells of freshly burnt herbs rolled off her in waves. Xander inhaled the scent deeply, drawing hope from it.

"You got the magic stuff?" Dawn asked.

"Yep," Willow replied, jangling the box slightly so that glass jars clinked within. "I've got all the herbs blessed and ready to roll. Now all we need is to get to the wall and keep the Partners at bay if they make an entrance. Did you guys get the weapons loaded up?"

"Not yet," Xander answered. "Buffy should be out with those soon."

"Good," Willow replied. "Then all we have to worry about is you know, imminent death. No biggie, nothing new there."

Xander took the box from her, loading up the car and shutting the passenger door with the supplies safe inside.

Dawn clapped her hands together. "I'm going to check on that weapon status."

"Sure thing, Dawn Juan," Xander replied.

The teen trotted inside the safety of the hotel, shielded from the night in hell.

"Xander?" Willow asked, hopping up on the hood of the car to sit.

"Yeah, Will?" he asked and joined her. The hood creaked in protest to their joined weight, but Xander didn't care. This van had already seen so much damage that he would at least get hell from the rental company if there wasn't hell on earth.

Willow sighed and lay back to stare at the sky. "This place doesn't have any stars. I hate it."

"Well, there'll be stars when we get home, you can say hi to the Little Dipper, the Big Dipper, and the other stars whose names I do not know…" Xander mused, lying back with her to stare at the starless sky.

"The Big Pineapple," Willow countered softly.

"I'm afraid I'm unfamiliar with that constellation, Will," Xander answered.

"I'll have to show you when we get back," Willow replied. "Shame on you for being so culturally deprived."

"So this 'Big Pineapple', it's a good one?" Xander asked.

"The best," Willow answered in a quiet voice. She exhaled a deep breath, he followed suit. "Xander? I've been thinking."

"Good, it's kind of your thing."

Willow nudged him with her elbow. "I mean it and after this is over, if we don't…I want to go with you."

"Vacation?" Xander asked. But he had already figured it out.

"You know what I mean," Willow replied. "I want to help you. To find Anya out there, to save her if she's…"

Xander swallowed a lump in his throat. "You don't have to do that."

"Hey, do you understand the meaning of the words 'I want'?" Willow asked. The hood of the van groaned a bit when she shifted. "I've learned a lot about dimensions through this otherwise horrific experience. Talking with Giles and reading the book have taught me so much. I think I can help. I really do."

He struggled for words but Xander couldn't quite find his voice to answer.

"Besides, you'll need me to teach you directions and stuff since you obviously don't know the important constellations to show you around. Wherever we go into the wild wilderness, we'll need that Big Pineapple to guide us."

Xander found her hand and squeezed. Though he still didn't speak, he knew Willow understood what that motion said.

"Thank you."

* * *

"Cordelia?" Angel whispered.

She barely stirred, shifting under the quilted blankets and freshly laundered sheets he had piled on her not a half hour before in a vain attempt to bring her some measure of comfort. He had been in and out of the room, unsure of whether he should move her or leave her be.

Cordelia had barely budged in that time. She answered some questions with the barest of murmurs, but mostly slept on and on. Angel felt himself struggling for control as she mumbled in her sleep. He grasped her hand with both of his and sat beside her on the mattress. Cordy's eyes were shadowed as if fatigued, but her breathing was even.

"I, uh, brought you to your old room," he said, clearing his throat. "It's almost exactly like it was before you were…but, um, I think the renter got rid of your curtains. I don't really recognize these new ones."

Cordelia's eyes fluttered open for a moment then shut again. A soft sound escaped her lips, a noise of protest. Angel squeezed her hand tighter in encouragement.

"I liked the old curtains better," she said in hardly more than a croak.

Angel allowed himself to laugh weakly. "Yeah, me too."

Cordelia raised her free hand to her forehead. "Ow…How long was I…?"

"A while," Angel said in a quiet tone. "Do you remember your vision, the Partners?"

"They're coming soon. I saw them," Cordelia confirmed. It hit Angel with a pang that her voice was hoarse from screaming. She smiled when she met his eyes, but her expression melted back into something befitting of lingering agony. "Ugh, my head is killing me."

"Do you know why it was like that?" he asked her softly, his fingertips running along her forehead. "Do you know why it hurt?"

Cordelia nodded and whispered. "I think so."

When she didn't go on, Angel just kept stroking, as if he could draw the pain out with touch alone. "You don't have to explain if you're still in pain, or…?"

Cordelia swallowed and shook her head.

"The sun rises in just a couple of hours at the most. We don't have much time until they get here, do we?" Angel asked her, his brow furrowed.

"No, we don't," she answered and smiled at him. "Maybe that's for the best though, the End being sooner rather than later."

"What do you mean by that?" he asked quietly. _I should let her rest, I shouldn't ask her questions, _he thought, but he wanted to know.

Cordelia turned to face him and reached the hand that he wasn't holding out to his shirt. She undid his first two buttons and slipped inside to rest above the cool skin on the left side of his chest.

"I can't wait to hear this beat," she answered, her eyes glued to the motion of her hand on his chest, imitating the thump of the human heart over his unbeating one. Cordelia glanced up at him with another brilliant smile. "You earned it, champ."

Her voice sounded so weak, Angel shuddered. "I'll get you some water. I'll be right back. Are you hungry?"

She nodded and lay back on her pillow, eyes closing with a quiver. Angel walked out of her room as quietly as possible, his feet padding on the carpet. He shut the door so that only the sound of it clicking shut could be heard and breathed out in relief for not disturbing her. He turned to leave for the kitchen.

"Bloody hell!"

Angel made a loud noise of surprise as the weapons tumbled from Spike's grasp with a loud crash. _Way to keep quiet, _Angel cursed himself.

"Spike, what are you doing up here?"

Spike scoffed and knelt to begin gathering up crossbows, axes, and stakes. "Helping Buffy clear out that room of weapons. What were you stockpiling for anyway? World domination? I always knew there was still an evil streak in you, mate."

Angel knelt beside him and handed back the last few weapons. "I was just getting prepared."

"Overachiever," Spike shot back.

Angel rolled his eyes and stood. The fresh scent of Buffy was coming off of Spike in strong waves as if it were becoming his own. _Maybe now is a good time for the 'horny teenager' talk, _Angel thought. Before he could decide, three slayers, armed with a sword each, trotted down the hall. They were in formation. No fear was betrayed in their harsh expressions as they moved. _I guess General Buffy rallied the troops. _

"So, um, how is she? Cordelia?" Spike asked, tightening his grip on the weapons. "Is she—?"

"She's awake, but the vision took a lot out of her. I'm getting her some water and something to eat," Angel replied.

Spike nodded, but he seemed far away.

"She thinks I'm going to Shanshu," Angel muttered.

Spike started at that comment.

"Well, the girl cares about you, doesn't she?" Spike said, brushing off any emotion he may have been in danger of revealing. "She wants you to get what you want."

_I signed it away, _Angel thought with a swoop of his stomach, _I signed away the chance I had of getting it._ Did it even matter? The Shanshu had represented Buffy, _life_ with Buffy. Literally.

Angel's life had moved on from Buffy's in every way and became his own. The Shanshu had morphed into hope for atonement. It would be physical proof that he was not a monster and that he was human again because he was good enough to be. Or at least, that he was 'living', whatever that meant.

What did the prophecy really mean now? Did it mean anything? Angel didn't know anymore.

"She just wants me to be happy," Angel said quietly.

That thought was at least uplifting. He'd lost his friends, his family, his prophecy, but he had Cordelia and he would hold onto her with everything. He would never let her go. There was at least one thing he knew.

"I'd better get back, give these to Xander and Dawn to stock up the van," Spike said, shrugging the weapons in his arms so that they clinked and jangled.

"Yeah, go ahead," Angel said quietly.

Spike nodded and left, disappearing down the hallway.

Angel descended the stairs quietly and entered the lobby, his thoughts swirling violently within him, restless.

The large, shadowed room was all but empty except for Illyria. The god-king lingered beside the receptionist desk, her expression unreadable. She stood, cradling the demon's sword that Buffy had found on patrol in her hands, studying it intently. He would have kept moving, but something about her expression made him stop. Angel approached her quietly.

"See something you like?" Angel asked her with a gesture to the sword.

"No," she said evenly, lifting the sword so that it glinted in the half-light.

"What is it?" Angel asked and stopped. "Well, I know it's a sword, but—"

"It's an ancient weapon, forged to bring death to all who feel its sting," she replied, twisting it in her hands. The reflections of its gleaming shimmered against the wall like light on water, eerie and otherworldly.

"You know why they buried it?" Angel asked, moving to glance at the weapon with her.

"They buried them all," Illyria said. "The Wolf, the Ram, and the Hart, the forged this and others like it, even in my time. The fools wanted the world for their own, these were to help them conquer it."

"I thought you said they were weak?" Angel asked.

"They _are_ weak," Illyria spat back with surprising anger. Her grip on the sword tightened. "I wish to see them die."

Angel was surprised. "This is personal for you."

Illyria glared at him with cold eyes. "It's personal for all of us."

"Okay, backing off," Angel said, raising his hands slightly in defense.

"They are responsible for Wesley's death," Illyria confirmed. She turned to Angel, looking slightly confused. "I _cared_ for him. Why?"

Angel sat heavily on an ottoman opposite to where she stood and gestured for her to sit as well. Illyria glared at the chair, but lowered herself into it to sit with a straight back, still holding the sword stiffly.

"You cared for him because bits of her are still in you," Angel said with a twinge of grief. "Pieces of Fred, and she loved Wesley."

"No," Illyria said deftly, fiercely. "_I_ care on my own will. I create my own thoughts. I feel my own feelings, half-breed. Whether or not they have been infected by this carcass, they are _mine_. You presume to think otherwise?"

Angel sighed in defeat. The god-king was as stubborn as ever.

"Why do you care for the one who sees?" Illyria asked. He could sense the challenge in her words, although her tone was as blank and measured as ever.

"I love Cordelia," Angel answered softly.

"Yes, but why?" Illyria asked again, imploring. "And why does the other? Spike mates with the Slayer, but for what purpose? They could never produce more of her kind."

Angel frowned. How would he explain these things to her? These simple things that people simply _did _without an explanation or the need for one. She looked at him, challenging him, but curious.

"Love isn't logical. There is no 'why'," Angel said. "When you love someone, you love _them_. Who they are, why they're who they are. The whole package. It isn't something you can just dissect and understand."

He knew it came out lamely, as if he were evading the question. Illyria didn't same to notice.

"Strange," she murmured, running her fingers over the sword's smooth blade.

Something she had said before echoed back to him.

"Did you say there are other swords like that one?" Angel asked.

"Yes, they buried them throughout the world. This is the only one in Los Angeles, I know. They placed it near my tomb," Illyria said.

"What makes them so special?" Angel asked quietly.

"They are death," Illyria said simply. "Meant to be given to the general at the end. The Wolf who would slaughter the lambs."

"What does that…? Illyria, could this kill the Senior Partners?" Angel asked desperately. "Could it?"

"Yes," she confirmed. "It brings death with every stroke, every nick."

"And you're touching it?" Angel asked, unsure if he was surprised or impressed.

"I don't fear death," she whispered, fingers sliding over the blade again. She glanced at Angel with dark eyes. "I plan to conquer it."

"Illyria, killing the Partners, it won't bring him back," Angel muttered.

"But it will avenge him," Illyria answered. Her voice was just as soft as his, surprising him. She held out the sword. "Use it. Take them out. Wipe them and their scum from this world and every other." She began to walk and stopped to whisper, "Make them pay."

Angel nodded. Illyria may not understand what she was feeling, but she accepted it and kept moving on in the only way she could, the only ways she knew how. Vengeance was one of them.

"We will," he whispered, a quiet promise.

* * *

"Yes, that's what she said," Angel finished as Giles quizzed him for the tenth time on Illyria's cryptic words.

Spike leaned against the wall of Willow's suite. Buffy, Dawn, Xander, and Willow had all showed up to hear Angel's call. The older vampire seemed a bit frantic, a bit worked up, although he was hiding it smoothly behind his usual brood and fight for justice bit. Spike had a feeling he was the only one who noticed.

"Well, the Suvartan swords have long been a subject of contention in the watcher's council. To be honest, I thought they were a myth," Giles said. "I never suspected that Buffy's discovery had any relation to them."

"Are they what Illyria says they are?" Angel asked. He sounded grave and angry, interrogating. Spike knew what it really was. He was tired. He was worried. Angel probably just wanted to go home.

"Well, in theory, yes. The swords were forged by the pure demon Suvarta," Giles explained, his voice measured as if reading from a book. He stopped and cleared his throat. "They're a legend, a sort of demonic morality tale."

"What do they do?" Angel asked.

"Kill, to put it basically," Giles replied. "They 'are death', a 'single stroke could fell an Old One'. It's all a bit muddled in text, but the meaning behind it is clear."

"Like my scythe," Buffy spoke up.

Angel frowned.

"Well, the guardian, at the tomb. She said the scythe killed the last pure demon. It sounds like this sword of instant death does kind of the same thing," she explained.

"Well, not exactly that," Giles said. "You're scythe was forged for good, Buffy. This sword however, it is one of many, created to help bring about the end of humanity."

"Well," Spike spoke up, "That makes it all a bit poetic, doesn't it? Kill the demons with what they made to kill everyone else. It's their fault they didn't realize that a weapon like that might be able to get them too in the end."

"It doesn't _matter_ if it's poetic," Giles insisted. "It's an extremely dangerous weapon to hold."

"I'm probably never going to say this again, so pay close attention," Xander said. "I think Peroxide Boy is right. We have two weapons that could kill these guys, maybe the only two weapons in this whole dimension."

"Thank you," Spike said, gesturing to Xander in gratitude.

Xander shrugged, but surprisingly grinned. "It was a one time thing."

"They're right," Buffy agreed. "Giles, we should use it while we can."

Angel remained quiet as they spoke. Willow and Dawn were adding in their own opinions, increasing the volume of the mingling voices. Spike frowned and tilted his head to watch as Angel stared down at the sword in his hands with a mixture of awe and revulsion. He walked out into the hallway, leaving the conversation behind and shutting the door. No one seemed to notice.

Spike waited, trying to see if he would come back. He hardly noticed that the volume of the room had returned to normal until Buffy lightly touched his arm.

"What?" Spike asked, still distracted.

Buffy frowned and tilted her head. "You've gone all spacey on me."

Spike smiled at her, holding her face in both hands to kiss her forehead, her lips. He breathed in her scent, his hands refused to stop touching her and ran up and down her arms. "It's nothing. Just missed most of that last bit. So what are we doing with the lethal sword, then?"

"Using it," Buffy said. "Giles cracked under pressure."

"I did not…" came the indignant reply from the speakerphone.

Spike grinned. "So we're doing it then?"

"Yep, no more running, or hiding from these ancient monster lawyers," Buffy said. "We're going to kill them."

Spike only took a minute more in the room, listening to Giles's endless warnings, and their plans in case of failure. At the mention of impending death, things quickly got sentimental. Spike didn't feel very welcome to that.

He slipped out into the hallway and was surprised to see Angel still there, standing against the wood-paneled wall, his eyes on the sword in his hands.

"Hey," Spike said, shutting the door.

Angel raised his head in greeting, the corners of his mouth twitched as if he were about to speak, but he remained silent.

Spike took a place on the wall beside him. "We got that settled, now they're all saying their tearful goodbyes to Rupert. God, I could kill for a smoke right now…"

"Why aren't you in there?" Angel asked.

Spike laughed. "You have been away, mate. Me and watcher weren't exactly on the best of terms last I spoke to him."

Angel was silent, doing that look of introspective musing that really did take centuries to perfect. "What's the plan?" he asked.

"Well, Giles, Faith, and their backup team are waiting at the city limits, you know, if anything gets through that we can't stop," Spike said.

He kept his voice lighthearted, but the implication was clear. If they died, the second front would be the world's only hope.

"And the sword?" Angel asked.

"We got the watcher's blessing. Now all to do is fight the Partners," Spike answered, "and faster than you can say 'wham bam thank you ma'am', you've got dead demons."

Spike waited for an answer but found none, as Angel just stared at the sword, the three faced head glinting in the hall lights.

"You all right?" he finally asked him.

"Better than that, we're going to kill them. We don't need to trap them, or evade them…" Angel said, trailing off. He sucked in a deep breath. "She isn't getting much better."

"Cordelia?" Spike asked, although he already knew the answer.

"Yeah," Angel replied. "Illyria said that this place was leeching her. What if she doesn't…? God."

"No, she'll be all right," Spike said, his voice sounded off to his own ears, pitched too high as he tried to reassure him. Then again, Angel never did this. He never opened up that much to Spike of all people. _Things must be bad then_. "She'll be fine. We'll get out of here in just the nick of time, you'll see."

Buffy emerged from the suite next, resting a hand on Spike's shoulder.

"We're leaving now," she told him in a quiet tone. That serious, General Buffy voice. "Giles, he's ready on the other side."

Spike nodded and turned to press a hard kiss to her forehead, his fingers entwining with hers and giving them a squeeze. She leaned into him, all softness and warmth. It made his head spin. Spike really did need to touch her as much as he could before the end, he realized as he stroked the fine hairs at her temple. When he went down, it would be fighting and wrapped in the scent of Buffy.

Spike turned to Angel. "You ready, big fella?"

"I'll go get Cordy."

Angel hesitated a moment and held the sword out to Spike, a silent gesture of pax.

Spike felt his eyes widen. The gesture seemed all too overt. Was Angel even going to fight? Instead of listening to instinct, he said, almost defiantly, "I'll hang onto it for you, then."

He barely caught Angel's mutter as he strode down the hall.

"Let's finish this."


	17. Chapter 17

**Disclaimer: **I own nothing and no one in the Buffyverse. It's all the property of Joss and Mutant Enemy.

* * *

Buffy tightened her grip on the scythe in the shadow of the Hyperion Hotel. Xander appeared at her side, ready to head out. The injured girls were already inside the minivan at the base of the curb, tucked away from the surrounding horror.

"Yeesh, hell at night is…well pretty much how I pictured hell at night," Buffy told Xander as he walked to the van.

"Utter devastating blackness, those piercing, jagged shadows. Everyone silently _freaking out_. Oh yeah, I'm right there with you," Xander agreed.

"Or maybe it's hell at early morning," Buffy wondered with a fleeting grin. She shivered as she realized just how different the circumstances had been when she had made a similar assessment almost twenty-four hours earlier. "You need anymore help?"

"Nah, Dawn and Willow are on it," he replied.

Willow and Dawn were still inside, gathering up any personal items or last-minute supplies they had missed, everyone else was ready to go.

"All right, but if you really do and you're just being manly-guy, I get to say I told you so," Buffy said.

"I wouldn't expect anything less," Xander said. He opened the van door, greeting the slayers boisterously, trying to keep up moral. From the sound of their responses, he seemed to be succeeding.

_See Xand? _Buffy thought, _I did need you on this one. _

Xander was joking with the girls, Buffy could hear through the open window. A few of them groaned at a particularly cringe worthy punch line and Buffy smiled despite herself.

Everyone else gathered in a small crowd, spanning perhaps twenty feet. They looked the way Buffy felt, twitching with energy, ready to go. Spike was waiting for her at the front of that battalion, ready for the end. _No, not the end, _Buffy thought, trying to reassure herself, _we're not going to die. We're not going to die. We're not going to…_

Buffy tried to concentrate on the impending task ahead, to prepare herself for the inevitable horror, the emotional blows. She strode forward, slowly through the crowd and passed Angel. He had brought Cordelia downstairs and outside. She seemed to hang on him as she grasped his forearms, talking quietly, desperately. She seemed frail and worn—so unlike herself—but alert, no longer unconscious. Her strength was returning.

_Yeah, right before we walk into big-time doom, _Buffy thought.

Buffy looked over the pair—_most unlikely couple imaginable—_they struck a deep chord of sympathy within her. She hadn't comprehended how weak Cordelia had been. Looking at her now, she better understood Angel's stark fear.

Buffy had been distracted beyond belief when she heard about the vision. One moment she had been in _their_ suite, in _their_ bed, and it had been real. It wasn't some fleeting dream, some desperate psychological plea for closure. Spike was actually there, braced above her on taut arms, moving within her as she marked his back and shoulders with her nails, his name a half-smothered cry on her lips as he kissed her hungrily._ I should have known it was too good to last, pretending that this hell thing was barely a blip to us_, Buffy thought, suddenly feeling stupid for daring to hope that they could have that measure of happiness, of hope. _But I just got him back. _

Perhaps her desire to reach that unattainable degree of absolute normal had been, for the most part, quelled, but it had felt so good to pretend that everything was going to be okay, that they could finally be together. Lost in her own little world, imagining the simple luxury of waking up beside Spike every morning, sleeping in his arms every night, and just doing whatever they wanted because she finally _could_, Buffy had almost forgotten that this was still her life, slayer life. She had signed back on, ended her retirement to find him. Was it any wonder that she found herself downstairs, being told that they were all going to die in just a short while?

It was the difference between light and dark, heaven and hell. _I should know, _Buffy thought wryly. It was difficult to concentrate on Angel and his personal pain when her whole world was in danger of being ripped apart.

Now, watching Angel and Cordelia walk by, speaking in low, intense voices and heading back toward the hotel, she realized that they were arguing.

"Do you think that I would let you take them alone?" Cordelia asked. "You _need_ me."

"Yes, I do. That's why we're going back to the minivan," Angel said. His voice was barely a low growl, it sent shivers up Buffy's spine. She ventured closer despite herself.

"This is my fight too," Cordelia protested. "I have been up against these things for the last five years of my life. You don't just get to decide that I can't be involved in this."

"That isn't the point. You're still weak," Angel told her.

"I'm walking," she shot back.

"Get in the van, Cordelia," Angel directed again, angry this time.

"_No_," she said.

"Angel," Buffy called, unable to take it any longer.

He glanced at her in surprise.

"Angel, let her walk," she directed, pushing past him through the slayers toward the front of the crowd.

"What?" he called after her. He jogged over to Buffy, falling in step with her before jerking her to a stop by grabbing her upper arm. "What did you say to me?"

"I said _let her walk_," Buffy repeated, sterner this time, in a voice she usually reserved for Dawn when she was in the worst kind of trouble.

"Buffy, she's…" Angel trailed off and cast a glance around. Buffy understood his hesitancy, they had an audience and this was private. He pulled her to the side and whispered, "She can barely stand."

"If she wants to go down fighting, that's her decision, not yours," Buffy told him. "Back down, okay."

"But what if she—?"

"Angel," Buffy interrupted. "It's not your choice, trust me, you have to just deal with it."

She knew he was gaping at her as she walked away, but Buffy urged herself not to care as she pushed through the crowd.

Spike stood waiting for her, only the brightness of his hair and skin could be seen in the total darkness. Buffy could feel his eyes following her as she drew closer. He grew into better focus the nearer she came. Buffy took in every bit of him with her eyes, every single inch. If he died, if she died, what would happen? They hadn't talked about it.

"You ready?" Spike asked. "I've got to get this back to big broody before we head off. Poof'll be wanting it back, I expect."

He gestured with the demon's sword. Angel's sword.

Buffy nodded and dropped the scythe at her side. She pried his grip from his weapon to set it in that chalky, grey dirt. Before she could stop herself, or consider the strangeness of her actions, Buffy reached for him, holding his face in both of her hands.

Spike grinned as she traced his cheekbones, savoring the taut skin, the velvet texture.

"What are you doing, love?" he asked her.

"Memorizing," Buffy whispered, meeting his eyes. His pupils were dilated, the irises a clear crystal blue even in the near darkness. Buffy drank them in.

"Memorizing?" he repeated, his smile a bit mocking, glinting in the soft lights from the hotel windows. The only lights.

"Yep. You are in no way allowed to make fun of me right now, by the way," she informed him, a bit too serious.

She knew her tone surprised him, coupled with her fingertips feeling the fullness of his lower lip. She leaned in to kiss it lightly, tasting the familiar flavor of his skin. He shivered. Buffy drew back. Spike looked a bit confused, but happy under her attentions. As if she had expected anything different. Buffy stood on her toes, they were so close that their breathing mingled.

"Shut your eyes," she instructed in a whisper.

He did as she said. Buffy leaned in and feathered her lips lightly over his eyelids, the silky skin beneath. His eyelashes fluttered against her mouth when he breathed in sharply at the sensation.

"Why?" he asked. Buffy could hear just how much was hidden behind that single innocent word.

"Because I love you," Buffy said, kissing the tip of his nose, the smooth expanse of his forehead, her hands followed her lips, brushing his temples, combing through his hair, and caressing his jaw. "If anything happens and…if anything happens, I want to remember you. I want you to remember me, and this, and what it felt like."

_How close we came, finally._

Spike opened his eyes to stare at her with a criticizing look. "You think I'd forget?"

"No."

That seemed to take his thoughts someplace else. Spike sucked in a breath. "You think…you'd forget?"

Buffy laid her hand against his cheek, forcing him to look at her. "Never."

Spike swallowed heavily and retrieved the sword. "I've got to get this to Angel."

"Yeah," Buffy said, recovering the scythe.

He gave her a quick kiss, a 'honey I'm going to work' kind of kiss, before running off. She bit her lip, aching for more time with him. _God, I'm so selfish, _she thought. Her mind shouted in protest, _Not selfish. Is it selfish to want to keep him after all we've been through?_ Losing him once was one thing, _one awful, gut wrenchingly horrible thing, _Buffy thought. To lose him twice…

No matter what her feelings were, that line of thinking had led to wasting time upstairs—although it hadn't been much—and would lead to it again. If there was one thing she had learned from her time as the Slayer, responsibility came first. You did what you had to do. A painful reality. _An unfair reality, _she thought_. _Love didn't hold a flame to duty in the life of a slayer. _No matter what I feel_.

Buffy watched Spike push through the crowd, a small smile playing on her lips. The girls parted when the sword came close. She had told them about the its lethal ability and now they avoided it at all costs. It was almost funny, in a dark sort of way, watching them flee from Spike as he pushed through the crowd, trying his best not to touch anyone.

"Aren't you kind of pumped?" Katie asked her, startling Buffy from her inner musings.

"Huh? Oh, kind of, sure," Buffy replied.

"I've never seen a pure demon before," Vi said nervously. "Are they big? I bet they're big."

"And like, totally badass, right?" Katie asked in excitement.

Buffy thought back to the monster that had emerged from the Hellmouth during its first two openings. "They're…something. An ugly, slimey, something."

"Hey, as long as they're fightable," Katie said.

Vi nodded, as if it were the only sensible thing. "So,Buffy. When did you fight a pure—?"

"Buffy, give me a sword."

"Cordelia?" Buffy asked, turning.

Cordelia marched toward her, still looking pallid, but anger gave her new resolve. She stumbled once and righted herself, Angel followed behind her, fuming, now holding the demon's sword, Spike at the end of their group.

"Come on, I know one of you slayers has a weapon. Load me up," Cordelia said to Vi and Katie, putting a hand on her hip.

"Guys, just give us a minute," Buffy told the girls. They walked away, talking quietly. Buffy turned back with a frown. "Cordelia—"

"No, don't you dare agree with him on this one. Out of everyone here, I thought you would understand that I am not just going to stand on the sidelines as my worst enemies—"

"Cordy!" Angel said, catching her when she wheezed and fell.

Buffy gaped on in horror as she fell back against him, clutching at his shirt with curled fingers, her other hand rising to her throat, caressing gently, feeling for pain. Cordelia shook her head.

"It's nothing," she said, her voice hoarse, "my throat's just sore."

"And this is only making it worse," Angel protested. Hopefulness flickered over his features. "There's still time you know. We can go back to the minivan and you can—"

"No," Cordelia said again, wrenching herself from his grip.

Spike moved to Buffy's side and crossed his arms with an expression that couldn't decide if it were amused or worried while he watched the pair before them argue.

"What is going on?" she asked him through the corner of her mouth.

"Oh, Barbie Doll wants to wait til the end, with you and me and…well I am not listing, but you know the bunch," he said with a shrug. "Angel's dead set against it and…"

"Willow give me an axe. I'm not gonna wait all day," Cordelia said.

Willow complied with an apologetic glance toward a disbelieving Angel. Cordelia struggled with it a moment, but held the weapon up and gave Angel a pointed look.

"Well, this ensued," Spike finished.

Buffy shook her head in disbelief. "I told him to let her walk to the portal."

"Angel doesn't take orders well, love," Spike said. "He's used to being big man in charge."

"Okay, that is it. If I have to play bitchy head Slayer girl, I will," Buffy said, marching forward.

"Buffy," Spike said. He stopped her with a gentle touch. His voice lowered, "Thanks for…"

"Don't worry about it," Buffy said.

She was afraid that it sounded dismissive, so she smiled. _I wanted to save him. I forgot he might want to save himself. Angel needs to give her that chance. _With those thoughts in mind, Buffy turned.

"Willow," Buffy called.

Willow stood between Angel and Cordelia as they debated, looking unsure of what to do. She moved quickly and eagerly toward the sound of Buffy's voice.

"Yeah, Buffy? What do you need me to do? Do you need me to slay demons for you? I can do that," Willow said hopefully. "Or hey, any complex algorithms need solving? I'm all for the algorithmic."

Buffy smiled as Willow inched further away from the argument. "Do you still have any of the healing stuff you used on the slayers in the van?"

"Oh yeah," Willow said. "I've got simple remedies for cuts and bruises and stuff. Your basic achies."

"Have anything for headaches?" Buffy asked.

"Sure," Willow said.

"Did you give any to the better half of the bickering Bickersons over there?" Buffy asked, rolling her eyes.

"I never got a chance to," Willow said. "Between Cordelia's vision and the news about the sword, I was kind of busy, in simple terms."

"Do you have a second now?" Buffy asked. "We've still got, what, an hour until sunrise?"

"Approximately…" Willow said with an unconvincing shrug.

"We'll make do with the time we've got," Buffy said and called, "Cordelia!"

Cordelia turned toward the sound of Buffy's voice. "I'm kind of in the middle of something."

"Come over here please," Buffy told her, mustering all her patience.

Cordelia held tight to the axe in her hands as she walked over. She struggled a little, but Buffy could see that she was improving. "Make it quick, I have an argument to win."

"Willow's going to help with your headache," Buffy told her. Cordelia opened her mouth to protest, but Buffy cut her off. "You don't have to go back to the van."

"You mean that?" Cordelia asked, narrowing her eyes as if unconvinced.

"I mean it," Buffy said.

"You're not gonna like, I don't know, knock me out with chloroform and shove me in that van? Cause, I've been talking to Dawn and—"

"No, there will be no chloroform, no bludgeoning, no Lifetime movie of the week villainy tactics. I'm just getting you something for your head," Buffy told her as calmly as she could.

Cordelia scrutinized her for a moment, searching her face for anything betraying an ulterior motive and finding none.

"Okay then," Cordelia said slowly, the corners of her mouth turning up in happy surprise.

"Go with Willow," Buffy said. "I've got to talk to Angel."

Angel was staring at Buffy as if he had never seen her before. He looked hurt, but worse than that, he looked frightened. _Weird look for him, _Buffy thought.

"I told you to leave her alone on this one," Buffy said. She was tired, her voice was low.

"How dare you interfere with this?" Angel asked her, clearly pissed. "She could be _dying_, Buffy."

"Angel, we are all going to die," Buffy told him, emotion flooding her voice, breaking through the dam she had built around it. "Don't you understand how minimal our chances of survival are? If that's the way she wants to go down, then that's it."

"What if it were him?" Angel asked her, his voice almost spiteful. "What if it were Spike?"

Buffy scoffed, crossing her arms and rolling her eyes. "We are _not_ discussing this."

"No, tell me," Angel asked. "What if? If you were this close to keeping him safe, right after you found him again, and he might be taken from you? Would you be acting this way if—"

"I tried," Buffy admitted, making him start. She lowered her voice, "I tried to make him go." Buffy laughed under her breath. "But he wouldn't do it. I even begged him and he wouldn't…"

Angel still didn't speak.

"And I'm not going to force him," Buffy finished. "I'm going to fight with him. Side by side. It may be the last thing we ever do, but we're doing it. Everyone here is allowed to choose for themselves, that's the deal, Cordelia included."

She stopped and stared at him a moment, he was giving in. "So put down your pride and your fear and whatever macho guy saves the distressed damsel scenario you've got going through your head. Give her the same courtesy."

With that she turned, finished with him.

"I will," Angel said and mumbled, "but I won't like it."

Buffy caught it, but didn't turn back. "I never asked you to."

* * *

"Here, drink this," Willow said, holding out the mug to Cordelia. Now they stood beneath the blackness of the hotel, just waiting to get going. The crowd before them looked like a mass of black, bobbing shapes, shifting and unformed. She could only catch glimpses of uneasy faces, illuminated by the soft light of the hotel windows.

Cordelia leaned against the wall of the Hyperion, breathing deeply. She sniffed the mug's contents and wrinkled her nose in response. "But you made it in the van. It's herbs. And Fiji water. Also, did I mention the smell? Funky."

"Cordelia…" Willow said in a warning voice.

Cordelia let out a little whimper and drank it down like a shot, gulping the brew and making a face. "Ugh!"

"Sorry, it might be a little bitter. It's the bay leaves and blessed thistle, they have these properties that—"

"I think I just threw up in my mouth," Cordelia interrupted, dazed and vaguely disgusted.

Willow winced. "Here, eat this."

"Nuh-uh, no way. No more witchy brew," Cordelia answered.

"Um, Cordy? It's a Power Bar. I thought, you know, for strength and energy. If the taglines on the packaging are being honest, with all their exclamation points," Willow said.

"Thanks," Cordelia said and took it tentatively. She tore open the plastic wrapping with long nails and took a bite. "You know, I actually feel a little better. I mean, my head's still hurting, but less so. Like I got hit with a mallet instead of split in two.

"Good, that's…good," Willow commented with an encouraging smile.

The minivan rumbled to life behind them and began to move at a slow pace. The crowd started walking. Willow could see Angel up ahead, helping lead the way. He was the tallest one there, illuminated by the minivan's headlights and walking beside two other shadowed forms, blonde ones whose hair shined in the soft light. Buffy and Spike.

Cordelia bit off the last bite of Power Bar. "Shouldn't we get going?"

Willow nodded. "Yeah, we've got about an hour til sunrise."

Willow winced as she helped Cordelia stand, supporting her weight, feeling the weakness in her form. How could someone be so strong when they talked and so weak where, in just an hour, their life would depend on it?

"There we go," Willow said. She released Cordelia as they began walking. The other woman paused a moment, drew in a deep breath, and began stepped again with surer feet than before.

"So, that was some vision, huh?" Willow asked, trying to make conversation.

"It was kind of the worst," Cordelia said.

"You've had them for a while now, right? These visions?" Willow asked. "It's fascinating."

"Yeah, but this one was…different. It didn't feel like it came from the same place as before. The source was new," Cordelia said.

"New how?" Willow asked.

"Well, the big whopping head splitter I got in the process was worse than any of the ones I used to have," Cordelia said with a short laugh. "I mean, yeah, sure they hurt before I fixed it—and don't even ask, cause therein lies a long story—but they never _ever_ felt like that."

"Something must have caused it," Willow mused.

"I think that I'm, I don't know, _connected_ to this place," Cordelia said in a low voice. "It felt the way things used to feel, when I was stuck, you know on the astral plane. Any time I would try to manifest."

"That would make sense. Maybe you're powers sort of merged during the merging. You could feel it if something big was going to happen here because you were already predisposed to _feeling_ those kinds of wiggy psychic feels. You know what I mean?" Willow asked, turning down Wilshire Boulevard, following the cracks splitting the ground.

"I guess so," Cordelia answered. "Maybe that's it…"

The dead demon's corpse lay to the wayside, unmoved. Willow wrinkled her nose as they passed it and held her breath. God, the smell of it laying there, just rotting. _Couldn't those Partner guys have sent a cleanup crew or something_? Willow thought. They rounded the busted street light, the wires still stuck out, a twisted blob in the near-darkness.

"This reality is weak," Cordelia whispered, startling Willow's ominous thoughts. "At least that's what everyone keeps saying. And me, whatever I am now, I'm…"

"Weak," Willow finished. She realized she may have made a misstep and quickly added, "As in astral. As far as the emotional physical stuff you're like a…a _rock._"

Willow winced with an apologetic look, but Cordelia smiled.

"Thanks," she said. Cordelia tightened her grip on the axe, holding it tight to her chest. Her knuckles were white against the handle. "I guess I kind of knew. I am connected to this plane, just like I was to the astral one."

"At least you're solid here," Willow commented.

"No more rolling mists of forever," Cordelia replied.

"Just red skies of hellfulness," Willow agreed and frowned. "Although, now that I think of it, that doesn't sound much better."

They were approaching the symbol now. The slayers stopped walking, all surrounding the section of brick wall in the midst of violently fissured earth. The minivan pulled up, headlights shining on the three stroke symbol. Willow guided Cordelia through the crowd, to the front where Buffy stood between Angel and Spike.

It was stronger up close, the fractured energy in the air around them. It crackled and burned. It made the fine hairs on her arms stand on end, assaulting her in waves. When Willow looked down. Flat hair. She could feel the energy nonetheless.

"Do your thing, Will," Buffy instructed.

Willow sucked in a deep breath and moved back through the crowd to the van.

"Magic supplies," Dawn said, holding her box through the window.

"Thank, Dawnie," Willow whispered.

"Hey," Xander said when she began to walk away. "I know you can do this."

Willow only managed a short nod, her heart thudded in her chest. Sunrise would be coming soon. The End would be coming soon. _I've gotta be strong, _Willow thought as she maneuvered around the deep cracks splitting the earth beneath them.

She stopped just beneath the symbol and reached into the box for _Interdimensional Travels _and a jar of herbs she had used to make a paste-like substance.

Willow let herself have one look back at the crowd before turning to the wall. Just one look, in case the worst were to happen. They were taut, practically twitching in readiness for battle, their eyes flickered eastward in anticipation and fear. She turned back to the wall with a shudder, dipped her fingers in the dark liquid in her jar, marked the wall, and began to chant. She couldn't feel the terror in the air as she read over the ritual in the book. Willow felt strong.

_Strong like an Amazon. _

Willow grinned with renewed determination. When she felt that tingle at the roots of her hair, saw her fingers dance with light, evidence of the power within her, she didn't fight it. Even as the first hint of deep, dark crimson peered over the buildings to the east of them, she wasn't afraid.

* * *

**Author's Note: **Thanks to everyone who read, reviewed, or made a favorite, I really appreciate it. Please read and review.


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